Bury It Forward
by KawasakiTriple
Summary: Mustang is forced to decide on the best way to cope with Edward’s broken, tortured mind; his first task is to decipher why Ed will stop at nothing to escape his custody when the weather turns foul.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I do not have any ownership or rights to Fullmetal Alchemist. The disclaimer applies to this and all chapters to follow._**

_Angst comes pre-installed thanks to the series itself. Please R & R, comments are very welcome._

**Chapter One**

The men were shadowy and indistinct in the dark, stormy daylight. Voices called out, slightly muted by the inescapable roar of the driving rain.

"Ed, Ed, c'mon Boss - stop it - get up!"

"He's over here - _hey, we could use some help_!" - shouted to approaching footsteps.

"I can't - damn, he's still strong - be careful or we're gonna hurt him…"

"Get your face up! Stop struggling!"

"Crap, he's going to suffocate."

"Colonel's coming, he's got the medic. Get his other arm, help me keep his face up."

The medic swiftly stabbed a needle into his thrashing shoulder and injected the tranquilizer. When it started to kick in they were finally able to pull him back, peeling him up and out of the thick paste of sucking mud. His mismatched hands, pulled away from their digging, continued to claw fruitlessly in the deluge of rain, until he wilted, his voice quieting from his frantic calling.

"I…have…to…be…sure…" he breathed one last time before collapsing into their custody. The downpour was washing the thick yellow clay away from his face and tangled blond hair. Slowly, his face was beginning to appear from under the muck; it was ragged, scarred and pale.

"You call this watching him?" Mustang growled, doubly irritated by the drenching rain. "Get him inside, _now!_"

xxxxxxxxxxx

Ed shelved a book, picked up another from the cart, and regarded the spine vacantly. He moved along, found a spot, and slid the book onto a low shelf.

Sciezska waited for the usual course of things to progress. She would memorize the titles of the books when she loaded the cart for him, and watch surreptitiously as Ed made his rounds. As soon as he finished and left, she backtracked, removed and accounted for all of the books, then put them where they really belonged.

There wasn't any rhyme or reason to his placement of them, and she'd tried hard to find one for quite some time. Perhaps something that indicated he was trying to make a pattern, or send a subconscious message. But it seemed truly random. He continued to be incapable of properly performing the task. Still, she kept him at it, if only to make him participate in a fixed routine and, hopefully, feel like he still worked among them.

Once his 'work' was done, he made his way to his sleeping room and sat quietly. He held his red cloak and rubbed it with mild interest, the threads growing bare from his finger's constant worrying. He didn't wear it anymore, but he was still very attached to it. It held the most precious thing he owned tucked safely within its lining - Al's loincloth. He wasn't consciously aware of the significance of the item, but he was fiercely possessive of it. He would take it out and spend hours winding and unwinding it around his leg and arm, enjoying the feeling, although no one else believed that his automail limbs had feeling. It this state of mind it had no effect on him, other people's thoughts. They were wrong about everything anyway.

He rose and left the room - it bothered him a little that they made him sleep in an enclosed interior space - and went to one of the glass walls of the hallway. Wide amber eyes scanned the bright sky, trembling in wait for the clouds to return.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"I don't know how much longer we can let him stay here," Mustang shook his head. "He has no official function, and his disability went through over a month ago. I can't justify the manpower to watch him, especially when he gets out like that."

"It would destroy him if you make him leave," Hawkeye argued. "This is the only place he knows right now. It's well within your authority to let him stay on. Don't make it sound like you're somehow duty bound to throw him out. He's not military anymore, but it's still Edward."

"_That _isn't Edward. Edward Elric died when he lost Alphonse. The only difference between the two is that we found Ed's body."

Al's metal remains had never been found. The two of them had started on the mission together. When they'd found him gravely tortured, broken and unconscious, Edward was alone and deeply traumatized. All that remained of Al was the scrap of cloth he had worn for modesty on the suit of armor.

"Then show some respect for a departed comrade," Riza glared. "Let the mortal remains stay in this familiar resting place."

"I'll think about it."

The first time it happened , no one knew where he'd gone. They hadn't really even noticed Ed was missing until the next day, when they found him by chance. The rain had stopped and the sun had come out, drying up the sloppy, saturated earth. He was stuck fast in the drying heavy clay but seemed eerily content to lie there, face down. He'd swallowed a lot of mud, had even inhaled some, and was cold, bruised and feverish. His automail arm had partially ripped from his body , an indication of how violent his movements must have been at some point. Before this incident he was recovering physically and everyone hoped he would start improving mentally as well, but afterwards he settled into his current strange persona.

On paper, he was a full-time resident in the psyche ward, although he rarely went there. With privileges to visit the base, he showed up and shelved the books every day, when he was well enough. They let him stay in a small sleeping room after they witnessed the conditions he'd have to endure in the ward.

Over time Mustang hated to see him, hated to hear the latest horrible theory on what was happening to him or how little could be done for him. His Ed, the intelligent, talented young man that challenged and infuriated him, and despite the age difference was every ounce his equal, had passed away. And this quirky creeping husk had stolen his right to grieve over the loss. This Ed only approached him to paw silently at his coat. You can't have it, he'd explained a hundred times. You're not in the service, so you're not allowed to wear one of these anymore, so stop doing that. Go back to your room.

The devastating effect that storms had on Ed added immeasurably to Roy's hatred of the rain.

Not every rainstorm had a profound effect on Edward's behavior. He was acutely aware of any precipitation, he shadowed the hallways going from window to window whenever rains came. But it was only when the rain persisted and the grounds became truly saturated, that his obsession possessed him. Then there was no limit to what he would do to get out, in order to go swimming down into the yielding earth.

The doctors best theories involved Ed trying to resurrect his lost loved ones, his mother and Alphonse. Another popular theory was that he sought to join them in burial. He was quite verbal in the throes of his struggle and he cried out a lot things, as if calling to someone who was lost. He never discussed it, and would offer silence to any question asked about it. So it was unknown whether he didn't remember afterward (most likely), or if he simply refused to talk about it.

That he could still manage to escape and abuse himself into the earth was just about the last straw for Mustang. He knew Riza would object, but enough was enough. Letting him stay here was too irresponsible. He belonged in a secure lock-up. The Colonel was pretty damn sure that "his" Ed would never know about it anyway, and this wretched creature would be much better suited to long-term care somewhere. Anywhere but near him.

xxxxxxxx

"Hey, Boss," Havoc said softly, as much to warn Ed of his approach as to greet him. Ed jerked his fingers away from the glass, and looked at him with startled amber eyes.

"Oh," Ed nodded, face relaxing. He reached out and touched the sleeve of Havoc's jacket when he got close enough. Havoc smiled and waited while Ed went through his usual procedure, feeling the cloth, furrowing his brow and closing his eyes for a few seconds.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Havoc again, still hanging on to the sleeve. _He hangs on just a little longer every time_, Havoc noticed. If he held still they could stay like this for a couple of minutes or more now. Hawkeye said he'd spent almost ten minutes with her one evening last week. He hoped it was a sign that Ed might getting some of his wits back.

The doctors thought it was more likely Edward was adapting to his current state and just seeking some level of normal human comfort.

"Humor me again, buddy," Havoc urged. "Just say my name, okay?"

"Jean. So tall." Ed smiled faintly, and Havoc gently ruffled his hair, pleased that he didn't flinch this time, studying the scars along his jaw line. They weren't quite so prominent now, but it did look like they would always show.

Ed dropped the sleeve and the smile faded - as though they'd been disconnected. He turned back to the window, expression distant and mildly anxious, and brought his fingertips back up to the glass.

"Thanks, Boss," Havoc breathed. He knew it would be hours or possibly the next day before Ed would be ready to interact with him face to face again, so he simply moved along . It probably shouldn't have been any of his business, but he'd always liked Ed a lot, and he was so damned heart-rending like this.

He'd noted with disappointment that the one person Ed tried clinging to the most now shook him off almost immediately. Mustang would snap at him, make insensitive statements about touching his uniform and brush him away.

It seemed pretty cold and heartless, even for the Colonel.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Have you seen Ed today?" Sciezska's concerned voice asked over the phone. "He didn't show up for shelving today. I called the infirmary to see if he was sick, but he's not there." Hawkeye shot a look out the window. The few clouds that hung in the sky were white and fluffy, the sun was shining fully.

"I'll check his room and let you know. Maybe he overslept, there's a first time for everything."

She hung up the phone and hurried down the hallway, pointedly figuring on not telling Mustang. _Just one more mark against Ed if he finds out,_ she thought.

There was no answer when she knocked, so she stepped tentatively into the dimly lit room. Her eyes settled on the thin figure curled up on the bed, his back to her, the red cloak twisted and tangled in his arms, held tight.

Her breath caught in her throat when he saw his bare back, She had seen him bandaged in the hospital before, but not the actual wounds. The wide swaths of discolored, scarred flesh were bad enough, but the gouge - she couldn't think of another word to describe it - was a hideous, puckered valley in his flesh, like someone had scooped out a dinner-plate-sized serving from one side of his back. _He must be missing some ribs,_ she gasped. _Dear God._

"Edward," she called softly, moving closer. A hand touched her shoulder blade and she slapped herself mentally for letting her guard down. It was the Colonel just behind her in the doorway, and he was taking in the same sight as she was. He had a glass of water in his hand, and set it on the bedside table. He motioned her to follow him back out into the hallway.

"You've never seen it before." Mustang said.

"No."

"The rest of him doesn't look much better. I can't imagine how he survived, all that on top of losing his brother, probably right in front of him. If you can call what he's doing surviving." he shook his head. "It's just an extension of the torture."

He saw her puzzled gaze. "He caught me in the hallway, wouldn't let go of my damned coat. He was talking to me this time, though. Looked me straight in the eyes. He wanted to know when it would be safe. Just that one question."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him it was safe here now. That he should stop running off and stay here, then we could make sure he was safe. And he looked so _crushed_ by that…and he dropped like I'd hit him with a fist. I had to carry him down here. I don't know what's going on in his head. Just randomness I guess." His dark look revealed that he was shaken, but only to her practiced eye.

"Was it the truth? Will you let him stay here, so we can protect him?"

Mustang nodded heavily, regretfully. "It's his eyes. When he's actually talking to you. It seems like it really is Edward mixed in there somewhere. I think, now, that maybe I was wrong about him."

"I should call Sciezska back," Hawkeye said. "Let her know he's okay."

"While you're at it, tell her to stop having Ed play zombie librarian. If she still wants him to come in every day it's okay, but she needs to give him something to do that's meaningful. Assign him some books to read, or if that's too much to handle let him listen to recorded books. "

Hawkeye brightened at the prospect of delivering his orders.

"I'll look in on him here for a bit, Lieutenant. Perhaps you can check on him for me later."

xxxxxxxxx

They were thankfully rare, but they were making an appearance now. The nightmares. Ed's mind was creeping into the realm of loud mode, and that's where the nightmares lived.

He had three modes, very distinct, that his brain now functioned in. His primary mode was standby. He moved though his day in it, worked at the library, wandered the halls, caressed his few possessions. Gazed out the windows when the weather was fair. He could even answer routine inquiries without breaking out of the cocoon. He hid himself there quietly, cowering, waiting. Very little infiltrated enough to touch him here, not even his own memories.

The second mode, rarest but growing bit by bit, was simple reality mode. He actually saw the people he shared space with in those short clips of time, could formulate words and remember what happened. A name, a face here and there. It built on itself and it was scary, but it was an irresistible force, drawing him out of safety in baby steps to seek real human contact. It was risky, though. He wasn't as protected from remembering bad things here. They could skirt the edge of his mind freely.

But loud mode was king. Once loud mode appeared, it usually took over, and nothing would stop it until it ran its course. It roared in his head with the sound of his own screams when he had been tortured, imprinted in his nerves, muscles and shattered eardrums. When the rains came, the volume would creep up in warning. As the soil became saturated, it became shrill, drilling deeper into his temples.

When it hit a certain pitch he had escape to seek the wet earth, because then all of the buried memories came back in exquisite detail. And then all of the torture, all the transgressions and regrets of their years of searching, all of it was a speck of no concern compared to what he remembered that he had been willing to do to silence Alphonse's begging and screaming. He had done something barbaric, unforgivable, and he had to bear the fact that he was still a willing participant in the act.

When loud mode passed, his mind mercifully slammed the door and shut in the demons. It deposited him back into standby were he hid in trembling, blinking ignorance again.

x

The nightmares went on unrelenting for over an hour before he could finally awaken Ed, the Colonel watching and trying to bring him out of his ugly, agonized struggles. He slacked to a calm and quiet twilight as soon as he opened his eyes, and it seemed doubtful that the soft, distant eyes remembered the nightmares at all.

When he was assured that Ed was okay, Mustang made sure that he was able to dress himself; he watched the slight figure wander to stand at the windows before he made his way back to his office. Once there, he directed Hawkeye to draw up Ed's extension of stay at the base so they could get it stamped and submitted today.

_Always back to the windows_, Roy reflected. _What is it that he's looking for out there?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd come back from the hour of flipping blindly through books in the library, still vaguely disturbed by the change in his routine.

The first couple of days when Sciezska tried to explain his change in assignments, he'd cover his ears and walk away until he reached his room. He tried coming back several times during the day, but she still refused to let him do his work, and he'd walk away again.

It went on until the time he started to walk away and turned to find the Colonel standing there, blocking his way. He'd dropped his hands from his ears and held them up in alarm until the face made sense to him. They stood there in relative silence, only the Colonel's quiet "Edward?" spoken aloud.

Eventually, Ed's hand reached for the familiar blue cloth, and he felt his senses unsealing with a warm, painful rush. The colonel was looking at him and he tried vainly to steel his heart against the next words, expecting to be told to let go and go away.

"It's all right. I want you to do a different job now. Don't touch the cart any more. Do you understand my orders?"

Ed gaped and didn't realize he was pulling hard on the coat, trying the replace the words he thought would come with the ones he'd just heard. It was all right? Was it? _'It's safe now, remember?'_ the noise intoned from the edge of mind, and he let go of the coat and fled from the interaction completely.

Outwardly he dropped his hands and head and looked at the floor. He offered no resistance when he was steered to the chair and didn't look to see if it was the woman or the Colonel that did it. The book slid in front of his field of vision. Eventually a hand opened it. Later still a hand guided his to turn a couple of the pages. It was replaced with another open book, one with pictures. When he rested his forehead on the cool, smooth paper and closed his eyes, they let him be.

The next time he returned he sat at the table and waited. He never touched the cart again.

"We sure could have used some of that obedience before," Mustang reflected. "If he'd listened to orders he wouldn't have taken off without his back-up, and maybe none of this would have happened."

"Sciezska says he was there again today, no problems." Hawkeye said as she examined his stained coffee cup. "But no real change. He's still just making the motions."

xxxxxxxxx

Back at the glass wall, staring at the single wispy cloud in the dry season sky with little hope, he heard a deep, soft voice that beckoned.

"Hi, Boss."

He actually turned and moved a half-step to meet Havoc sooner, wanting to channel his warmth. Their exchanges were uncomplicated, the least threatening contact he knew. His hand rose to make the connection and he welcomed the chance to open up safely, however briefly.

But Havoc had been talking to Hawkeye, and he was concerned.

"Hey, Ed, you really are safe here, okay?" he said comfortingly. "There isn't anyone here who would let something else happen to you now."

The words were a bruising chain rattling across his heart, made worse since he was so open to their exchange. His head began to roar. He pulled back but the path to standby was closed.

A flash flood of memories, burning like acid, were leaking into his eyes, and he went hard onto his knees. He felt a hand and he fought it, like the hands that were rising up out of his past. He felt them slowly twist the barbed blades that bit into his soft young flesh, and he screamed to match the noise in his head.

Startled at Ed's reaction, Havoc thought Ed was having some kind of seizure by the way he jerked away reflexively and dropped to his knees. Havoc went to the floor with him, taking his arm in concern, and the small man exploded, screaming and fighting, his voice crashing through the drab hallways and traveling in echoes beyond. Havoc's arms wrapped around him to try and restrain him and it took all of his strength. Ed's agitation grew even stronger as he twisted them both to the ground and he was wild, unmindful even when he slammed his own skull into the floor to try and leverage away.

People were coming, as he knew they would. Havoc hadn't wasted any of his own breath calling for help.

Hawkeye was coming at a run from further back and Mustang was clearing away other responding personnel to give her room to get through. As soon as she arrived, Mustang clamped onto Ed's flesh arm, shouldering in under the armpit. Hawkeye reached over and shoved up the sleeve on his shirt, grimacing as she impaled him with the hypodermic.

Havoc and Mustang held their grip until they felt his muscles start to slacken and shake. Hawkeye moved the others away, directed them back to their stations, then returned to help.

"What happened, Havoc?"

"I don't get it, Colonel. I had just started to talk to him. At first I thought maybe he was having a seizure. There wasn't any warning," Havoc was pale.

"What did you say to him?"

"I just told him it was safe here. He's been asking, right?"

Mustang shook his head. "Don't say that to him. It has some other meaning to him, I don't know what yet, but it provokes him. Although, I didn't know he'd react this harshly."

He reached down and scooped Ed up, feeling for all the world like the only weight left to him was the automail, his body just the whisper holding the two brutally heavy pieces together. He hesitated, considering whether to take him to his bed here or back to the hospital ward.

Hawkeye sensed his indecision and took his sleeve, guiding him to the small room. She took Ed's head in her hands to give Mustang an easier shot at keeping his automail straightened when he lowered him onto the bed.

"Call over to the infirmary and have them send a medic to check him out. He hit his head pretty hard."

Hawkeye nodded and headed back to her desk to make the call.

"You want to sit with him, Havoc?" Mustang asked, sliding a side chair next to the bed. "Just until the medic gets here."

"Sure, sir, if you don't think it will upset him." He sat and took Ed's limp hand in his large strong one.

Mustang started to say something then thought better of it. If it made Havoc feel better to hold his hand while he sat with him, then so be it. He didn't really expect it to have much effect on Edward at all.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

_An update! Please let me know if you find this interesting. It's an odd piece and hard to tell if holds anyone's interest but mine..._

**Chapter Two**

The strengthening storm had been dumping buckets for three hours now. A week of light showers had thoroughly dampened the earth, and the volume of rain falling this morning was turning low areas of soil into thick soup.

The Colonel's inner circle of loyals were all there, standing by, waiting in their rain gear. Mustang and Havoc took turns pacing along with Ed as he watched the rain with increasing fervor, first touching, then tapping, then pawing at the windows. He ignored the men following him as he made mumbling noises and swept from glass panel to glass panel.

Another hour of continuous downpour went by, then another half. The slight blond stopped mid-stride and pitched forward, slamming to a halt with mismatched fists against the window. The heat radiating from his sweating forehead caused a halo of haze to ghost out irregularly where his head impacted with the glass. At that moment Ed's world claimed him completely and he pushed away to bolt for the door at the end of the hallway. His whole body slammed into the panic bar from a dead run, expecting it to be locked but unable to resist such an obvious portal of escape.

It wasn't locked. The door flew wide and a startled Ed found that he had flung himself out through it, smacking down hard on the wet cobbled walk. Mustang's men followed, with the Colonel and Havoc staying closest. They lagged slightly, making sure he didn't get too far ahead, but not trying to stop him. The blond was back up on his feet and off like a shot, running unsteadily away into the blinding deluge.

This time was different. This time they would allow him to go and watch, to see if they could figure out what it was that he was so driven to do out here in the rain.

Ed ran, slipping and making ragged desperate cries as his weakened body quickly ran out of breath.

"This is the same way he always goes," Havoc raised his voice to be heard over the noise of the downpour. It was achingly easy to keep up with the struggling young man.

Ed reached a clearing and slowed, his eyes darting around, looking up at the darkened, blurred horizon. He had to squint to clear the rain from his eyes, checking the near distance to find the tallest tree, the largest rocks.

Mustang thought it looked like he was locating something by landmarks. Not a very crazy thing to do, in his estimation.

Ed's feet found direction again and he stumbled forward. His eyes focused on the ground and scanned back and forth, sweeping his head from side to side with dizzying frequency. His flesh hand was at his forehead, holding his bangs back out of his line of vision. Mustang thought he looked like he might be crying now, but it was too hard to see. As the distance closed between them, he still couldn't be sure of the tears, but the expression was riddled with anguish.

Forward motion had stopped again. Ed was circling, nervously hesitating. Mustang tensed and swept his own sodden bangs out of his eyes, ready to move if Ed took off again.

The frantic searching ended as he found his spot and all pretense of civilization dissolved. He flung himself face down into the sucking, saturated yellow clay, his crying still eclipsed by the tears of the clouds.

Then he scrambled back to his knees, to free his hands for the task. He paused with his arms poised while the rain battered his face.

"Something's different. Maybe it's because we're here," Havoc's voice came to Roy's ear from behind as his comrade moved up to watch along with him. That didn't ring true in Mustang's gut; if anything, it seemed like Ed was unaware that he had any company at all.

For a minute, it looked like Ed's energy was spent. The question arose in the Colonel's mind as to just how long they should leave him like this, crying and getting chilled while kneeling in the mud. His shirt was soaked and clung pathetically to his thin frame, lightly outlining the damage to his body. It had been a long shot, thinking that they'd get some clue from letting him loose. So far they'd only succeeded in increasing his upset and subjecting him to harsh conditions and over-exertion.

Suddenly, Ed snapped back to awareness and began digging frantically with his hands. Mustang approached cautiously and squatted close by. When it didn't seem to have any effect on Ed's actions, he risked venturing a question. "What are you doing, Ed? What is it?"

"I'm here, I'm here. It's safe! I promised, I promised, I'm here!" Ed's face and voice were directed down. Mustang doubted it was any sort of response to his question or his proximity.

_He's talking to the dead, perhaps,_ the Colonel mused. He concentrated on listening closely, hoping for more clues.

"Please, say something! It's safe now." Digging faster, harder, the wet mud kept souping back in to replace his excavations. He tried thrusting an arm down, met too much resistance, and began clawing away gobs of mud again. His effort was tremendous for someone in such poor condition. It was a grossly inefficient way to dig, but the amount of effort he put into it began to make headway. His hands were creating a deepening depression in the muck.

He talked incessantly as he dug and dug some more. Then, with a clunk, the automail arm connected with something hard on its next experimental thrust downward.

_He's so far down now he's hitting rock_, Mustang thought. "What are you trying to do?"

"I've got you! Say something!"

"Ed, what…"

"AL! Al Al Al Al Al…" His automail hand found it again, clanging against it. He was leaning down into the depression in the slop, straight-armed; that would put the object about three feet underground. The sound of metal against metal pierced the noisy backdrop of the rain and reverberated in the chests of the startled men, all still riveted to his actions.

Mustang's eyes flashed down in shock. Surely that was a rock or something, poor Edward was just delusional. Al couldn't have been buried right here in their "back yard" all along…could he?

Pawing wildly and repeating his brother's name in a wailing cadence, Ed kept digging like a dog, and then - clang! Again. It was far too close to what that metal suit might sound like encased in wet earth.

Mustang motioned to Havoc. "Go! Get shovels. Something's down there. God forbid - I think it might be Al's remains."

Havoc spun even as the impact of the words landed in his throat. He grabbed Fuery and they ran full-out in spite of the slippery path, making short time of the distance to the maintenance shed. Fuery, the man with a hundred keys, whipped out the correct one on the very first try and snapped open the padlock. They dove for the shovels and dashed back in rising alarm.

Ed was starting to do himself some damage, the knuckles on his flesh hand were bleeding and he'd bitten his lip, the rain making a pink wash of the blood down his chin. Mustang called to him to stand aside and when he didn't react, the larger man reached down and pulled him back out of the way, allowing the shovels to begin to fly. The shovels barely paused in time when the agitated blond ripped free and dove down in their way, digging by hand again desperately. Ed was restrained again by Mustang's powerful arms, and the shovels' struggle against the backsliding muck began to gain ground.

It was a sobering sight that came into view first. It was the metal helmet, covered in thick, dark bearing grease. Attached to metal shoulders still encased by the earth.

Ed screamed and wrenched free with impossible strength, diving in head first and digging harder around the massive metal shoulders.

"It's safe, you have to forgive me now, it's safe. We can fix it. I'll fix it. You have to believe me!"

Their hearts swelled with stark pity for their former comrade's tragic loss. It was a blow to finally see the hard proof, the physical evidence of the death of Ed's innocent younger brother. It gripped them all, welling large, painful lumps in their throats. And then the witnessing eyes froze.

An angry, insane roar issued from the metal head and an arm ripped itself free from the muck to clamp fiercely on the begging blond's neck. The eyes glowed fiery red in rage.

"I'll kill you!" roared the youthful voice, oddly echoed in the trapped metal.

"No, no, they were waiting, Al, they were waiting. When we returned they just would have had another body to destroy. It was the only way. Please, please, you have to forgive me!"

"_FORGIVE_? I'll kill you! How could you? I'll bury _you_ alive! Die!" shrieked Al, working another arm out and puncturing Ed's shoulder with a driving muck-covered metal thumb. "Slowly! You need to suffer! In the dirt, in the dark, you cruel bastard!"

"Don't kill me yet, Al." Ed cried at the pain, eyes now clear and lucid. "First the Gate. Then you can kill me."

"Oh, yes, you will get this finished first. Your blood will be the first thing I feel with my flesh." Al reared back, still half-entombed in the ground. He twisted his huge body with tremendous force, bringing his metal chest up and reaching into the cavity with one hand, the other still gripping Ed like a rag doll.

"Let him go, Al, we'll get you out!" shouted Mustang, shaking loose from the shock to attempt to pull Ed free from his raging brother. "Get his arms!" he yelled to Havoc.

But Al ignored them and finished reaching into his chest for whatever it was that was inside. It glowed with a blinding red light, and in a heartbeat the two Elrics were gone.

Mustang fell forward and slid down, his hands slapping into the hole and sinking. When he lifted them they were holding only mud, the rain dissolving it from his hands as he stared at them in disbelief.

The mud slipped back down into the depression , and shovels fell from stunned hands. Havoc helped the Colonel up, and they drew on their professional strength as soldiers to stay calm.

"What the hell…" Havoc regained his footing, nearly stumbling into the sinkhole himself.

"You heard them," Mustang said grimly. "The Gate. And I think they had a stone."

xxxxxxxx

They stood there soaked and nervous, waiting for what seemed like forever. No one made a move to leave. The weather beat at the soldiers with disdain, as if to dismiss them and drive them away, but the decision to remain was unspoken and unanimous. Tucked behind their leader, watching his squared shoulders as he presided over the sodden ground, the shock was slowly beginning to wear off.

A chill wind swirled up momentarily, eliciting involuntary shivers. It was all the warning they had before the rain burst outward explosively from the point where the Elrics had disappeared, and two bodies tumbled away from a flash of ground-swell lightning. They fell limp and motionless, one across the legs of the other.

Edward lay face-up, unchanged but for the side of his face, the jawline darkening and swelling as if from a vicious blow. Ed's limbs were not restored. His automail was still there. He was beneath the form of a nude, emaciated male in his mid-teens. The youth's bones were sharply evident under the sallow, thin skin dotted with small open wounds and festering sores.

They were both unconscious, brown and amber eyes open yet vacant.

The men moved quickly, carefully wrapping what they presumed was Alphonse in a raincoat and carrying both of the young men back to the compound.

Hawkeye had been forced to wait inside the headquarters office, to field any inquiries that might come in while they were off on their technically unofficial business. It had been agonizing. When they came bursting in through the entry with their grim cargo her heart stopped.

"Who..?" The stunned look on the men's faces stopped the questions before she asked them. But when she saw Ed's face, she moved quickly to check on him.

"This is serious. I think his jaw may be broken. He needs to go to the infirmary right away. Colonel, what happened? Did he take a bad fall?" She gingerly tested the purpled jaw line with her fingertips. Her eyes darted to a large, bloody hole in his shirt.

"That 's one way to put it," Mustang said darkly, turning away. "How about it, Havoc?"

"Not good. I can barely get a pulse." Havoc had the younger Elric's thin grey-tinged arm gripped by the wrist. "Al! Alphonse!" He lightly slapped the doughy face. There was no reaction.

At least, not from the boy. Hawkeye gasped. "That's Alphonse? But how do you know?"

"No time for that now, Lieutenant. Have the car brought around so we can get them to the hospital."

She moved so quickly to go for the phone that her foot slipped. Mustang caught her neatly in mid-air and set her back in balance.

"Slow down. It will be all right."

He wasn't so sure he believed that, though. But he knew she'd hurry anyway.

The brotherly exchange he'd witnessed couldn't have done much good as far as Ed's mental status was concerned. He couldn't begin to conceive of the nightmare he'd likely experienced in the trip the Gate. And Alphonse didn't sound anything like himself at all either, as if being buried had driven him over the edge as well.

The car arrived and he directed the men to load the boys up, taking the passenger seat so that Ed could be placed carefully into his arms. Havoc held Alphonse's fragile body when they passed him into the back seat, and Hawkeye drove them with all possible speed on the short hop from headquarters to infirmary.

xxxxxxx

Dripping wet, Mustang suppressed a sneeze and Havoc snickered as small puddles formed around their feet in the hallway outside the examining rooms.

"You look like a drowned puppy. Sir." He added the formal title in response to the glare.

"You're just as wet as I am."

"With all due respect, it's not the same look on me as it is on you."

"Stop flattering me, Havoc, I don't date my subordinates." Mustang growled.

"Just trying to lighten the mood." He shrugged. He also didn't believe the part about not dating subordinates, because he'd seen it plenty of times. But this was hardly the time or place to argue that point.

"What's keeping them so long? I've a mind to just go in and see for myself." Mustang began to pace.

An orderly walked by, noting the wet floor, and moved to hand them towels. The Colonel ignored him and Havoc took the offered linens.

"Hey, we're making a water hazard here. Someone might slip. You want to take off that wet jacket?"

"Why? The shirt's just as wet underneath." He took the towel anyway. "Don't mother hen me, dammit."

Havoc was just about to argue when the door crept open.

It was the doctor leaving Ed's room.

"Well?" Mustang moved to block his way.

"Fractured jaw, just as you guessed. It's severe, we had to wire his jaw shut so it can heal. He's in mild shock; I supposed that might be expected with such a terrible blow to the face and being exposed to the elements. And I must say, I've never seen anything quite like that large puncture wound on his upper chest." The doctor's gloved hand scraped in annoyance at a patch of blood decorating his otherwise pristine white coat. "Now if you'll excuse me I need to see to the other fellow. I understand from the intake nurse that his vital signs are weak but steady and that his main complaints seem to be from general neglect of the basic human needs for food, water and hygiene. Did he say anything to you about the conditions he was living in? Has he been a prisoner, or trapped in the wilds?"

"He…was lost for quite some time. He was unconscious when we found him."

"Seriously? So he split the flesh on his knuckles pounding this other young man's jaw to pieces - and it was what, a lucky punch in his sleep? Quite a feat. Look, if you don't want to tell me the situation here, then don't. But making up things is not going to help me with treating these young men." The doctor stepped around him and disappeared into the next room in a huff.

"He - he did that to Edward?" stammered Havoc.

"I was afraid of that," Mustang frowned. He pushed the door open and crept quietly inside. Ed was still and his breathing was steady, although noisy and wet with congestion. "I suppose it will drive him away again. Something like that, no way in hell could he deal with that in his condition. It wouldn't be something he could cope with easily, even if he had all his wits about him."

Havoc came around the other side of the bed. "I guess even Edward has limits."

"Yeah. I suppose he does." The Colonel leaned down and brushed a stray hair off the clammy, pale forehead. "We'll still be here for you, Ed. Whatever the case, you won't be alone."

"Maybe he hears you."

"Could be. If not - I'll just have to repeat it when he can." Mustang snagged a chair with his foot and drug it over to the bedside, perching on it with the squish of wet wool trousers. "Let Hawkeye know that I'll be here for a while, hm?"

"But…"

"Now, Havoc. Get going. After you let her know, get changed and bring me back some dry duds."

"Yes, sir." Havoc reluctantly left to follow his orders, stealing a look into Al's room as he went by. He'd hoped for some sign of life but there wasn't any more activity on this bed than the one he'd just left.

His boots squeaked on the dry flooring as he made his way back down the bright hallways, through the empty waiting room and out into the dark rumble of the continuing storm.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

"Ed. Time to eat." Havoc slid the tray table over and sat on the edge of the bed, gently shaking the motionless body. Amber eyes lowered slightly, barely interested, as if they were too heavy to move. One finger lifted with the barest of intention of touching Havoc's coat, then dropped.

Havoc took Ed's hand to guide it with both of his, making the fingers rub the cloth of his jacket. The small spark of recognition widened Ed's eyes and his face masked with pain and sadness. Havoc raised the head of the bed and helped him sit up, bringing the straw to his swollen lips. With his jaw still wired shut the liquid was barely sustaining him. He swallowed once, then twice. His face and lips went slack and when his eyes closed, Havok set the glass aside in helpless frustration, gently lowering Ed back down to rest. The thin, threadbare blanket he pulled up to the ice-cold and crudely sewn chin was a joke, its softness and warmth washed away a hundred launderings ago. The message was clear, as always. The men of the military were a valuable, cherished resource in the battlefield, and nearly valueless chattel in any other setting. No expense was spared on the weaponry. No expense was allowed for the humanity.

Havoc stood and unbuttoned his jacket with quick flicks of his thumb and forefinger as he had done a million times, holding his arms back to let the heavy garment slide off of its own accord from gravity's pull. He draped it carefully over Ed's silent form, careful not to touch it to his injury, and positioned it to cover as much of the thin body as it would.

Ed shifted then, turning slightly sideway. His flesh hand moved, blindly grasping into the soft lining still harboring significant body heat and the very familiar smells of one Jean Havoc. His face grew peaceful, and just for a moment Havoc could see clearly how adorable Ed must have looked as a small boy, before grief and guilt became the defining emotions of his everyday life.

The small gesture of kindness brought comfort to both of them.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Mustang finished reading and shuffled the papers on his desk, sighing heavily. For once, Hawkeye set aside her work as well, sighing just as hard.

"So what does the report say about their condition? Does it make any sense at all?" she asked.

"Considering that his vital signs were marginal when we brought him in, Al is doing quite a bit better physically, but his mental status is still poor. At least he hasn't shown any evidence of that ungodly rage or violent behavior. He doesn't seem to remember a thing since they found the red stone. He only knows that they were about to use it when they were overcome by the homunculi, that it was terrifying, and for him it's like it happened yesterday so he's still freshly traumatized. He's been spared the experience of being buried alive, or so the shrinks hope. He asks about Ed repeatedly. They're not sure, in light of what's happened , that Al's strong enough to face these events. They just tell him that Ed is alive but isn't well enough to visit. The sight of Ed, with all those scars, half out his mind…Alphonse isn't nearly strong enough for that yet. Perhaps they'll never tell him about the things he said and did to Ed, if Edward doesn't remember."

Hawkeye sighed again.

"As best as I can piece it together, Ed buried Al to hide him with the stone, and to prevent him from getting his body back while he was at risk of being tortured. He even transmuted a coating of heavy grease to prevent his metal from deteriorating. I'm sure that for Ed to do something like that, he must have been desperate for a way to save his brother, but I think he was also aware the he was doing something horribly cruel, and I'm pretty sure he did it against Al's will. From Al's point of view…" Mustang shuddered. To be buried alive like that, perhaps while struggling against it, was the stuff of gothic nightmares. To remain buried, fully aware, unable to move, unable to even die to make it all end and with no way to know if you would ever be released…he couldn't even fathom it. He had to admit, he never would have believed that anyone had gotten more of a raw deal than Ed after witnessing the fresh aftermath of his hideous torture. But this, this might take the cake.

"Those boys have been through hell."

Havoc walked up to report in, puffing on his cigarette and humming unemotionally,

"He drank a few ounces, and I sat him up for about a minute. I think he has some small amount of recognition."

"I just don't know if telling him that Al is back in the flesh would be good for him right now." Mustang shook his head. "Especially since his own limbs weren't restored."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. There's no point in telling him anything. I don't think he'd make heads or tails out anything with multiple syllables, much less full sentences. He truly is out of it." Havoc took a long draw on the cigarette, daring either one of them to make the usual demand for him to put it out or get out. He was ready to get out the minute they said the word. It was all too damned depressing, that's what it was. He needed a break from it, big time.

Hawkeye frowned, looking down the hall. "Do you mind, Colonel? If I go sit with him for a bit?'

"Not at all, Lieutenant," Mustang smiled stoically. "It will relieve me of the same impulse so I can take care of the rest of these." He shook the stack of papers, remembering too much for one painful moment. Rebellious sparks had lived in those caring, intelligent, stubborn eyes when Fullmetal indignantly brought him reports to throw on the pile. The boy always fought to maintain his own sovereignty in spite of his subordinate status.

He'd given everything to protect the person most dear to him; bore the burden of a horrific act, survived torture and waged war with total madness to keep a shred of his mind primed to fulfill his promise and take the last steps to bring his brother back.

How it must have shredded his soul as his brother cursed and threatened to kill him, blamed him for the premature burial, forced him to bear the terror of a return trip to the Gate and initiate the restoration of Al's body - while Ed was denied the return of his lost limbs.

He dismissed Havoc with a wave of his hand and a nod, exactly the action the man was shifting tiredly from foot to foot waiting for. Finally alone, Mustang knuckled the corners of his eyes, rubbing away the tears of eyestrain (he insisted to himself) and settled back into reviewing the requisitions. He couldn't concentrate, the words refused to make their meaning known to him. He scribbled a few signatures on the low-dollar requests, then let the pen fall and put his head in his hands.

Once upon a time it seemed that if they could just get Al's body back, no matter what else happened, Ed would have his victory. His absolution from the guilt that ate him nearly in two on the best of his days. But now even that was far too simplistic, it seemed. In spite of Al's restoration, Ed's own agony was at a high-water mark.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ed stood tall and strong, an iron fist held aloft. It gave him no joy, no feeling of power. He hung his head in defeat, his chin clanking against his iron chest.

Al hissed at him, calling him names, spattering him with blood from the socket of his missing arm. The arm he'd gladly sacrificed to inspire the Gate to seal Ed up in his old armor.

"See how YOU like it! Fucker! Four years, you live in there like a can of crap for four years. Then get ready. Because then I'm going to bury you for a year. Or hell, I think I'll just leave you down there. Forever!"

"No, Al, I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this to happen to you. I know it's all my fault. I know I screwed up, I'm pathetic, a waste. Please, just let me make it up to you. Somehow, some way, if you let me be your brother and help you, I'll find a way to make this up to you. Please Al." he was sobbing, frantic, and inconsolable. The tearless glowing orbs in his metal head were unable to issue the drops that were streaming in his mind.

"You can," Al said, in a voice suddenly soft, magically sweet. "Of course you can make this up to me."

Somehow even Ed's huge metal paws felt the warmth of those words, and his revived courage opened his heart. _Al still cares_, hope cried out in the cold of his metal breast…_he still needs me_.

"Die for me brother," whispered Al, kissing his armored hand with an electric charge of affection. "If you die you'll show me how much you care, and I will feel love for you, and we can share our bond again."

"You will?" Ed breathed, gasping both in and out of his dream, tears rolling into his ears in fact. He struggled to maintain the nightmare in vain, his body responding to the intrusion of touch.

The strong hand on his arm was all wrong, it wasn't Al, and he didn't want anyone else in their intimate moment. He didn't want to wake up, because no matter how terrifying Al became in his dreams, it was time with his brother, and it was all he had left. He made a long, gutteral, frustrated cry and came up swinging, struggling, upset.

The face that swam into view startled him and he grew quiet.

Mustang's face, full of concern, shocked him into the realization that there was someone else besides Al he held an attachment to. Not someone he had to live every minute of his life to help, but someone who seemed to want to try and help him.

Something warm and caring in the dark eyes soothed his stark pain; and in a jarring flash of will to live he threw his arms around the strong neck and clung for dear life. The man's arms encircled him and drew him close, holding him protectively while he sobbed and trembled. The deep, rich, smooth voice said his name, and he knew that voice was familiar. He clung even harder, afraid to let go.

"It's okay Edward. You're all right. I'm here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." The sobbing tore into his heart far more than he would let on. This show of feeling was different. This was extreme sadness, fear, sorrow, regret, but not madness. Not like before.

"Edward. Ed. It's me, Ed. Look at me. Please." he gently tilted Ed's head up, still holding him securely with his other arm.

The shiny amber eyes, rimmed in red, flanked by the swollen cheek and blackened jaws, did something remarkable. They looked at Roy, and through the pain and fright they clicked in recognition. The pain seemed to pulse in them as he cried awkwardly through wired jaws, "Colonel!" and sobbed even harder.

"Yes, Ed, it's me. I'm here, and I've got you. I won't let go. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me and we'll work this out." Ed curled back into his chest, crying less frantically, seeming to take some comfort from the secure embrace. Roy rested his cheek on the bowed head, hoping this was the break in Ed's isolation that they had so long awaited.

Ed clung in confused desperation, afraid that if he let go his world would return to strangeness and he would be lost and alone again. When Mustang shifted and tried the settle him back on the bed he panicked and clawed, fighting to hang on. The larger man gave up, shifting over to the bed himself and easing the muscles cramped from supporting the slowly calming blond. Ed was relaxing into him, getting settled, breathing in his scent as he buried his face in the neck of Mustang's shirt.

Roy was determined to keep Ed from sliding back into insanity, uncharacteristically unconcerned with how this looked to anyone. He waited patiently, knowing in another hour Havoc would be here, and most likely Hawkeye would be by to check even sooner. If Ed recognized them now, they could take turns keeping him in the present as well. If not, well, Mustang would stay as long as he could.

Havoc couldn't believe his eyes, Mustang sleepily cradling Edward on the small cot, the younger man curled up and clinging to the shirt with a muscular arm holding him securely.

"S-sir?" Havoc said quietly. Mustang shifted, stiff, stretching a little while being mindful of Ed's composure.

"Ed," he said softly into the ear below his chin. "Have a look Ed, another friend of yours is here."

Ed jerked as his muscles clenched and the words put him on red alert, fearful and uncertain. His clutching hands dug into Mustangs chest, pinching painfully.

Mustang endured it. "Look here, Ed. See Jean?"

Ed's eyes flashed up under his bangs, reluctant and afraid.

He thought, from the glimpse, that it was a face that was not anything bad. He looked again, a second longer. _Oh. That face. That Jean_. He looked up again, met the gaze for a second, then two. The face smiled .

"Hey Boss, it's just me."

Ed's eyes held some recognition, but when Havoc held out a hand he tightened his hold on Mustang.

"You recognize Jean, don't you, Edward? You know who we are now, and you know who you are. Show me you understand, Ed. Nod if I'm right."

Ed slowly nodded, the act of communicating shooting his chest with terror and cracking his composure with tears and fresh trembling. Havoc's hand slowly smoothed his hair and Mustang let him fall back against his chest, patting his back.

"That was good, Ed, very good. Nice work. Stay with us. We want you back where you belong. You belong here with us, Edward. We've missed you. "

Neither man noticed Hawkeye at the doorway, brushing back her unmilitary tears at the heartbreaking scene and the implication that Ed was finally coming back to life. She turned and made for the ladies room, a hand over her mouth in reaction to the hope and sadness battling in her tightening windpipe.

The Colonel never ceased to amaze her.

Havoc wasn't able to take over for Mustang, but he was able to touch and talk to Ed as long as he was being held. It was Hawkeye that finally got the Colonel free when she returned, Ed seemed entranced by her voice as she spoke with uncharacteristic softness, and he held the hem of her jacket in respectful solemnity. Unless he'd had some secret crush on her, it seemed she probably reminded him of someone else.

Whatever the case, she was able to help him bathe and dress, drink his meals and prepare for the visit to the infirmary. He was cooperative and silent for the most part, and only panicked once when she bumped the tray in such close quarters and it made a loud noise when it fell. It took several minutes to coax him away from the storage closet, but to her relief he seemed to recognize her the whole time.

They removed the wires from his jaws during the trip to the infirmary. The mild anesthetic unexpectedly knocked him out cold, and after an hour they still could not awaken him. The hospital admitted him for observation.

They placed him in the same ward as his brother.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Al's body. Malnourished, weak, riddled with pneumonia and open sores, the body he reclaimed was not returned to him in top-notch condition. His condition was improving every day, though, strength and health building up over time.

Guilt was a factor now, too. In painful bits, the time missing from his memory was being filled in, returning in random order, with very little provided by the doctor. When the Colonel visited he would not comment, saying that it was best that Al remember on his own. Al knew a few more things, but not enough. He had been informed that Ed was alive, had been surviving without him for nearly a year, and that his brother had gone insane. He was unbearably afraid that Ed wouldn't know him.

But now it might be the only way to see Ed. Ed had experienced some improvement recently, and there was fear that the shock of seeing Al would throw him back into madness. Desperate to see his brother, to find some way to heal the wounds between them, Al grew stronger every day. He didn't recognize himself in the mirror, so how on earth would Ed, in his alleged battered state?

Al had been listening, paying attention, asking careful questions. He knew when Ed was placed here in the same ward. That he was under restricted access, and in a room secured so that he could not get out. There couldn't be many patients with those kinds of restrictions. Such a room should be easy to locate.

As soon as he was mobile enough Al waited for the evening shift to retire and for the skeleton crew that manned the graveyard shift to come on duty. At eleven-thirty, after the last pill and bed check, Al crept into the hallway, hospital-issue socks slipping silently down the cold linoleum hall.

The warning placard looked right. He stole a glance into the small observation window embedded with chicken wire - there he saw a tangled fall of blond hair, a metallic gleam at the foot of the bed where an automail toe poked from beneath the sheet.

Al sucked in a pained breath. _I really did that,_ he thought, deeply regretting the validation of that particular memory. _I did prevent him from restoring his limbs._

His hand shook as he thumbed the latch and slipped into the room. The thin form didn't move as he crept in, still unused to how easy it was to move in silence on soft fleshy feet. He moved closer, eyes burning with the need to see his brother breathing and alive.

It was a double-edged sword. Alive, breathing, sleeping in relative calm. Here, close by, in a safe secure room. It should have been such a heart-warming sight.

But the body screamed a different story with the evidence laid out all across it. Deep scars had rendered the body Al knew better than his own a total stranger. Even the handsome face was changed, jaws and chin striped with lines in the aftermath of deep gashes and the pale forehead blotched with purplish marks.

_He saved me from that_, Al anguished. _I hated him for stopping me when we were heading for the gate, I didn't understand why he buried me…but this is what would have awaited me when we returned. I would not have survived it. I'm not sure I would have wanted to, if I had endured it. _

_He did exactly the right thing to get my body back. Hid me from his torturers, who would surely have stolen the stone. They probably tortured him to try and find out where I was. And he bore it. And then he maintained the last shreds of his sanity long enough to make good on his promise. _

The figure on the bed made a small noise and shifted. Al leaned closer, and his heart stopped when the eyelids fluttered.

_I should hide!_ But he didn't. It was selfish, it was wrong, but he so desperately wanted to see and be seen by Ed. He couldn't breathe when the eyes opened slowly and the rich amber orbs gave him a sleepy look.

"Hi," Al said, voice so hushed he doubted Ed heard it.

"Uhn," Ed grunted in return. His dry lips rubbed together and Al grabbed the water cup, bringing the bent straw in reach.

Ed sipped weakly and sagged back down flat on the bed. His eyes closed and his expression was relaxed.

Al reached out then and touched the flesh hand, patting at first and then holding tight. The sensation was overwhelming. How long since they held hands and ran through the fields near their house? How many years since Ed guided him through marketplace crowds with clasped hands so he wouldn't get lost? Since the last time they clutched at one another in the warm flesh and cried over the grave of their mother, before they lost their bodies and their home?

He knew his hand was warm, he'd been growing stronger every day. By comparison Ed's was so weak and cold, unresponsive. How the tables had turned.

He was about to let go and retreat when the eyes opened again and a gentle pressure grew in his palm.

The hand slipped down and captured a fold of his hospital gown; the thumb began rubbing the cloth.

A little more aware, the eyes searched his but looked disappointed. There was no recognition in them.

"Hey," Al said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Ed's lip trembled and he looked away, pulling his hand back. He wrapped his arms, flesh and metal, around himself and curled up reclusively on his side. His expression was nakedly sad and pained. For all that his expression and body language cried, he said nothing.

Al watched, torn. He had no idea if offering comfort to Ed would help, or if it would hurt him even more. He touched the thin shoulder and it flinched away, as if to repel him. Al stood silently and watched for a few more minutes.

"I'll come see you again when you're feeling better," the younger boy said finally and trudged to the door. Please feel better soon, Brother, he thought. He wasn't sure whether to wish the return of his memories or not.

He stepped into the hallway and cringed as he heard familiar voices. Al scurried down the hallway and slipped unnoticed into his room.

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

_Many thanks to all who R&R - this is a difficult one to write, for some reason I've yet to figure out. Please catch me and let me know if I drop the ball...it could definitely happen with this one..._

**Chapter 4**

Mustang and Havoc carefully opened the heavy door and paused a moment before approaching. Ed was balled up on the bed, a position that used to indicate that he wanted to be left alone. Now they couldn't be sure.

Their voices were quiet and controlled in deference to the late hour, and they attempted to draw him out slowly. They began by using his name and explaining where he was and how they were there to check on him, to make sure he knew they planned to bring him away with them as soon as they were able. They carefully avoided anything that might trigger an upset. They couldn't quite tell if he was there with them or off in his other world again. His body had slowly relaxed out of the tight ball but he didn't turn to face them, or make any sort of acknowledgement.

Mustang was the first to find the end of his patience, anxious to know for sure. He came right up to the head of the bed, on the side Ed was facing. He clearly wasn't asleep; that was expected, the troubled man's normal pattern was to be awake and active at this time of night

"Edward?" he asked firmly.

Ed's eyes were open but averted. Mustang's gaze met Havoc's, and they shared a disappointed frown. The Colonel touched Ed's shoulder, but there was no reaction.

"All right. I guess you don't want company tonight," he sighed as he straightened up, shaking his head. It was like speaking to an empty bed. "Goodnight, Ed." He tried one more touch, a pat on the flesh hand. Nothing.

"Oh, well…it's late. Tomorrow, then. Let's go." They moved out into the hall, diverting purposely to pass Alphonse's room. The faint glow of the offset night lighting in the room revealed the boy's apparently sleeping form. They peered in through the small pane of glass but did not enter. The peace of the empty hallway amplified their fatigue from the long day, and they continued on down the corridor, deliberately slowing their pace to lessen the echoes from the tread of their heavy boots.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The morning sun tried to cast a cheerful glow through the hazy window, but the sentiment was lost in the tension-filled room. Al sat on the edge of his bed, gnawing at the lining of his cheek. Mustang was coming to him this morning for a preliminary 'interview'; he could only assume that it was for the official report on what had transpired since he disappeared.

It wasn't easy to talk about what he remembered, and things were still slow coming back to him - disturbing things that he had seen, experienced, and worst of all, terrible details of things he himself had done. In honesty he had to admit that he deserved some sort of punishment. He had been as instrumental in breaking Edward's mind as any of the enemy's orchestrations.

Al always thought of himself as a good person, someone who tried to do the right thing and would never be cruel or destructive on purpose, no matter what. But now he himself had proven that to be wrong; the memories of those actions wounded him deeply. It took courage to look at that vaguely familiar face, blinking back sadly from the other side of the mirror. This was a stranger indeed.

A stranger who viciously hurt his closest living person totally and irreversibly. He wasn't sure he liked that face, and he didn't know if it could ever be trusted.

He wondered how long they would keep him from Ed. How long did they expect him to keep suppressing the urge to go to him openly, to hug him, try to make things better for him? They were still brothers, the last of their family, and Al was still every bit as deeply attached as he ever was. Surely, some kind of bond must still exist to build on. Some bits of Ed were still intact. Al knew Ed better than anyone, and he was still convinced that if anyone would know what his brother needed to bring him back, he would.

They just had to see that. They had to let him be with Ed. He would have to convince Mustang somehow, even if they were about to put him in the stockade for his assault on Edward.

He steeled his strained, ragged nerves as the door swung slowly in. The two blue-clad soldiers stepped in stiffly, tall and broad shouldered, filling the room with their capable presence.

Mustang nodded in greeting, Havoc giving a small wave.

"Good morning, Alphonse. How are you feeling?" Mustang asked, and Al shivered at the warmth in his voice. The officer's expression was kindly and the dark eyes searched him without aggression or anger, taking in his condition with benevolent interest. The Colonel should have been outraged, angry. How could he be nice, sound so concerned?

The defensive tension he'd built up preparing to be attacked and accused let go with a jolt. The backlash of emotion overwhelmed him immediately, unexpectedly, and his whole body began to shake. When Mustang approached, saying his name and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder to console him, the helplessness was more than he could bear. A choked sob escaped in spite of the hands that flew to his mouth to suppress it. Mustang squeezed his shoulder supportively and he nearly lost it completely. He didn't deserve any sympathy. The caring gesture sliced through his heart like a salted razor and the trembling continued to wrack his weakened frame .

"Alphonse," Mustang said quietly. "I know it's got to be hard, but now that you're stronger, we need your help. We need to know what you remember. Maybe if we have a better idea of what happened to Edward, we can do a better job of helping him. No one blames you. No one thinks you would have hurt your brother if you were in your right mind."

Al's body began to ease up, and his tight, dry throat ached. "I want to help."

"I never doubted that," Mustang said. "It won't be easy, I know. We have a general outline of what happened. But there are some things I'd like to hear from you, and some details I'm hoping you can fill in for me. Because I think that the act of burying you drove him over the edge, but something else broke him before that, made him vulnerable enough to get caught in the first place."

"I'm not much help. They had captured us for a while before he escaped and buried me to save me. But I wasn't aware most of the time. I was starting to have spells of trouble staying conscious in the armor, and it was one of the periods where my mind was phased out. I don't know how they caught us or what they did to him. He…" Al's eyes rolled up and to the side as he drew hard on his memory. "he already had blood all over him, I remember that. I remember the blood and how hard it was for him to do the earth-moving with alchemy, and they should have been pretty simple transmutations for him. I thought he was possessed, or crazy, I fought like mad, I know I hurt him and I almost got away. He must have been somewhat sane when he buried me, I know that now, sane and desperate. He already knew what they were capable of and that's why he resorted to such extreme measures. And then I think he let them find him again, to give them something to concentrate on so they wouldn't figure out where I went."

Al stared at his ill-gotten flesh hands, rife with guilt. "Edward."

"Easy, Al. We're going to do everything in our power to help bring Ed back to all of us." The dark-haired man grew grim. "It's a gamble, but I think we should tell him that it's true that you're alive and back in the flesh."

Al held his breath as he heard the words he had been hoping to hear. But somehow, the idea chilled him as well.

"It would be great to think that he'll be thrilled, but I'm quite sure it won't be that easy," the Colonel continued. " He's lost in layers of fear and nightmares and misunderstanding. Getting through to him with anything close to reality is very difficult, and he's in tremendous mental anguish - and not just from your situation. By itself, the torture he went through was inhuman. Judging from his wounds it was enough to break any man I have in my command. If it was anyone else I'd throw in the towel, but your brother is a special case. There have already been some significant glimmers of recognition, and I know he's still in there trying to survive. If you're up to it, I think we should start reintroducing the two of you right away."

"Whatever it is, I'll do it." Al's eyes flashed in determination, tears now gone. He rose and put his arms into the thin hospital robe Havoc held out for him.

"We'll play it by ear," Mustang nodded, watching Al's expression closely. Havoc held the door and the three moved into the busy hallway, hovering just outside Ed's room. With deep breaths they went in, plastering non-threatening smiles onto their faces.

Ed was sitting up in bed and his eyes widened at so many people coming into the small space at once, pulling his legs under him in a crouch ready to flee.

"Edward," Mustang said in a confident, friendly voice. "We brought someone to see you."

Ed's head ducked down and scanned side to side as he sized up the threat that the three might represent, feeling for the edges of the bed with both hands to reassure himself that he had two possible sides to escape over if need be.

Havoc heaved a sigh, hanging back. They wouldn't get anywhere with Ed on full defensive alert. The golden eyes' constant shift in and out of focus told him Edward was perceiving them visually but his mind was doing heaven knows what with the images.

The sight of Ed weaving in their presence like a cornered animal cut Al deeply. The madness was unavoidably displayed, too severe to be explained away as stress or raw emotion.

"Edward." Al said sadly. "Brother."

Ed froze at the familiar term. "Brother!" he hissed back immediately, as if wounded by the word. It carried the inflection of a curse. "Brother!"

"Okay, Ed, calm down." Mustang kept his voice even.

"Not working," Havoc assessed quietly. He caught the Colonel's eye and made a slight nod in the direction of the door. The regretful twist of the commanding officer's mouth indicated he was in agreement.

Al took a step forward and a hand restrained him.

"Another time, Al," Mustang said quietly.

A gasp came from Ed at the mention of his brother's name. Still crouching, he worried his way backward on the bed. When his back hit the metal headboard he hugged his knees in a tight ball, eyes cast down. Al resisted just enough to stay in place.

"Don't," Mustang warned when he saw the boy start to speak. "Not one more word." Al looked back at him but his pained look did not change the officer's mind. "We can come back. He's not receptive right now."

They retreated to the door. Al's brow furrowed when he saw Havoc staying behind.

When they reached the hallway the older man let out a breath he hadn't been aware that he had been holding.

"He has different states he gets into. That one wasn't going to be productive. Havoc can watch him and come get us if he slips into a better mood."

"How come he can stay in there? Why not me?"

"Edward rarely has an issue with Havoc being close. Sometimes he even reaches out to him for support, they've had that little bit of connection going on for quite a while. More recently he recognized me, but just a couple of times. I doubt that your face would be familiar to him at all. Come on, let's go back to your room to wait. You're not up for a lot of activity yet yourself."

Al withdrew into himself as he moved sluggishly back into his room, his blood thickened with shock at just how far gone Ed was. For everything that he'd been through, and all that had been lost, he had never been alone. Not for a minute. Because he always knew that he was firmly held in his brother's heart, and that they were there for one another, back to back, taking on the world.

It was sinking in now, the severity of the break between them. And yet, no matter how broken their relationship was, it was still vital to Al. He just couldn't imagine that it wasn't still central in Ed's life, somewhere in that shattered mind. Until they patched things up and made sure they were all right, neither one of them would ever be able to move on in good conscience. Good conscience was something they had never been able to come by yet, especially Edward, who shouldered the blame for their failed transmutation of their mother and the resulting cataclysm that their life formed afterward.

"Try not to take it too hard. We'll get through to him. I wouldn't have been so sure of that a month ago, but he's shown some signs of coming back into his own. It's incredibly difficult, but the key seems to be patience." Mustang saw the heartbreak in the boy's unfamiliar eyes.

He knew intellectually that this was the same boy that had inhabited the armor, but he had yet to truly reconnect the former acquaintanceship he had (not a friendship exactly) with this new face. It was such a young, innocent, sad face, too. Al was almost pretty, like his brother, although taller and broader in frame. His hair was a golden brown, as were his eyes, and instead of vulnerability hidden behind flashy bravado and selfless determination (Fullmetal's former stance), Al was warm and soft up front, but with a sturdy conviction and heart that spoke of a great stamina and inner strength beneath.

It made Mustang wonder how things could have come to this, for two young men to have been through the very gates of hell so often that they now faced a sort of rebirth.

"I should thank you," Al said quietly. "You've been taking care of him, and you didn't give up."

"You might want to thank Lieutenant Hawkeye and Havoc for that. I was seriously making arrangements to have him remanded back to the mental ward. They were the ones who persisted." Mustang leaned against the chalky white wall. "It was too hard after a while. He was like a ghost. But he was waiting, it seemed. When he realized it was safe to dig you back up, as soon as the conditions were right it all clicked back together for him. He wasn't completely sane, hasn't been since the torture, not even for a minute…but some part of him held to his purpose. And I really think that eventually you'll be the key in pulling him back from his nightmare."

They sat and marked time for a while, a tolerable silence developing between them. Mustang held his tongue. It seemed like a poor time to press for details on that last trip to the Gate. He'd wait for now, but...those details would have to come out soon.

A small sniffling noise broke the long quiet spell.

Oh no…Mustang saw the tears, threatening to spill from the boy's eyes…this is where he could really use Hawkeye. He really wasn't a comforting person by nature. These Elrics were always drawing on him for strengths he usually did not possess.

"Al…" he said helplessly. He was saved as the door swung and Havoc's head popped in.

"He's better. Ready for another try?" Havoc said optimistically.

Al nodded, rescued from his sadness, already darting for the door. That was quick, really quick, he had been thinking it might be hours or maybe even tomorrow before this would happen.

"Hold up, son," Havoc said, not moving from the doorway. "I know he's your brother, but if you'd just let me take the lead when we go back in, I think it'll go easier on both of you."

Al nodded silently.

"You want me in there, too, Havoc?"

"I think it'll be okay if you come, sir. He accepts me now, I'm pretty sure he's up to having you there, too." He looked away from the Colonel and gave an apologetic look to Al, knowing the same couldn't be assumed for him. Al waited with a careful, expressionless look for the man to move out of the doorway and let him through.

Ed was lying down on his side, eyes half-closed, rubbing his automail hand on the sheet with a circular motion as his eyes tracked the movement mechanically. He didn't react this time when the door opened and the three reentered.

Havoc waited until they were all at the foot of the bed before he came up in reach.

"Edward, I'm back. I brought company for you."

Ed went limp for a moment, and it seemed like he might be going to pretend to be asleep. But then he pulled his head back up and peered around the room, searching.

Al looked to Havoc, stepping forward. Havoc nodded.

"This is someone you know, Ed. Someone close to you, although you might not recognize him right off. He's very happy to see you."

Al's hand shook as he reached for Ed's flesh hand. Ed's eyes began to widen and Havoc caught his elbow, stopping him just short of contact. "Let him decide if he wants to touch you." Havoc instructed sotto voce.

"Edward." Al gulped. "I've really missed you."

Ed wriggled up higher in the bed, propping up on his automail arm. He eyed the outstretched arm, and the face that owned it. He began shaking his head, subtly at first, then much harder.

Slowly his hand went to the sleeve of the thin robe hanging from Al's outstretched arm. He slid the material between his fingers and as his mind grew more calm and focused, he looked at Al with intense concentration.

"It's me, Brother," Al choked. "I just want you to be all right."

A whirlwind of emotions wracked the thin scarred face, terror and pain besting the lot. In spite of it, he gathered the cloth in his fist with a death grip, dropping his head and staring at the faded material with burning intensity.

"Not Al." His voice was tight with anguish, and his hand still clutched the sleeve, his balance on the automail weaving. A blast of nausea and vertigo rocked him hard, and he dropped forward burying his face into the mattress, groaning. "You're not."

"Yes, it's me, and it's okay. Everything's going to be okay. Brother, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I did to you."

"Edward." Mustang said in his firm, confident voice. "Everything is fine. Al has come to see you because he loves and misses you very much. He only wants to help you."

The high-pitched, unnaturally fast breathing sounds kept rhythm with the distraught, jerky motions the former alchemist was beginning to make on the wheeled bed, causing it to squeak and rock.

Al took a chance and leaned forward, holding his breath as he slid his arm under Ed to pull him up into a hug.

The blond's head slammed into the soft shoulder and the things he screamed would have been unintelligible even if they hadn't been muffled by the taller boy's body. Ed was waging a frantic battle but it wasn't with Al; he seemed to be fighting himself. Al kept holding him, settling on the edge of the bed, with Mustang and Havoc giving silent approval by virtue of the fact that they hadn't interfered.

In his weakened state Ed couldn't keep up that level of activity for long; which was a good thing, because even though he was stronger, Al wasn't up to full strength himself. His arms were weary by the time Ed stopped fighting within them. In the slowly evolving quiet, the only sound persisting was the uneven rhythm of Ed's gasping and shaking. Then something happened that startled them all. Ed grabbed Al with both arms and clung tight, still stiff with tension.

The two brothers stayed together in silent shock, unable to fully connect but afraid to move apart.

Ed knew it was a dream, it was more frightening that any of the ones where Al had beaten or cursed or killed him. It was far more threatening, because it was so close to reality, and so close to the place in his heart too painful to wish for. When the ghostly presence of this Al spoke softly and called him 'Brother', and his sick mind tortured him with imagined words of hope and caring, the last of his sanity threatened to pack up and leave.

This was, by contrast, too much. His brother, restored in warm flesh, offering amends and support. It felt like real hands, like a real hug. It ripped at his soul. The homunculi had not stooped to such cruelty. No, only his own mental illness was capable of this level of vicious, uncaring destruction.

The pressure broke him. It broke his last resolve, his last resistance. It was madness but it was too much to fight any longer. He groped for the false hope, the pathetic vision of redemption before him. He shouted every word in every language he knew that would dispel a demon or release a trance, yet it made no difference. When he reached out and held tight, he gave in a little more. It did feel real. It felt like a warm, human body. It sounded like Al, like he imagined an older Al would sound. He smelled, felt like Al. Well of course. It would match his imagination, because that was precisely what it was.

When he held tight, it didn't disappear. It seemed he'd gotten stuck, the plot didn't progress, the Al here didn't burst into flame or sprout fangs and claws.

Instead, the hallucination expanded. It gave a comforting squeeze, gentle yet firm. It rested a soft, squared cheek on his forehead and slowly released a long, shaky breath. Eventually, it even began talking again, calling his name, stroking his hair.

It was trying to kill him. It had to be. Such actions were drawing him further and further out of his protective shell. Soon, he would be fully exposed, and it would be the end.

Luckily, he found it impossible to care, or to make the enormous effort needed to duck and cover. As with his previous nightmares, it was time with Al, and the pain and risk could not be allowed to factor in. With that he buried his face in Al's neck and breathed the name, just once, about to open up completely to the connection.

Then an idea from the beaten pulp of his former self raised up on broken arms. It tried desperately to warn him that this was happening in reality, not in a dream. And it did not believe this could be Al, because Al was very angry and unforgiving at the moment. No, this was an impostor. Likely, it was Envy.

Envy had fooled even the Colonel and Havoc. They had escorted him here to apply this torture. And Ed himself was still playing along, because the scene was one he wanted so desperately to be real.

The progress he had made in regaining himself eroded with this revelation, and mental gears shifted smoothly. He dropped into standby mode and the protective cocoon insulated him once more.

Being in standby did bring the realization that he was awake and not dreaming. Although it usually filtered them out, it did not completely eliminate the chance that he was hallucinating. And there this Al thing still was.

The tremendous dampening force of standby edged Al's presence away until his effect on Edward was negligible. He could have been a chair, or a glass of water, just another form inhabiting space in the room that Ed was not currently choosing to interact with.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Ed first seemed to relax in Al's hold, the relieved junior alchemist's heart double-bounded in happiness. He was getting through! Ed held him and leaned into his comforting touches.

"Ed, it's okay now," Al soothed, pulling gently at the golden hair to straighten a tangled section. He tried not to get too excited as a wan hug pulled back at him in return. His back was killing him, he was overtired and the tension was grating still, but he hung in, determined. Almost there, he could feel it. Ed was almost ready to really look at him and come to the understanding that they were together again. It was going to happen any minute.

Then something changed. Ed made a small, pained sound, a mere noise associated with the sudden intake of air. And with that his entire body made a subtle shift and became different altogether. Stiffened, distant and unfocused, this moment's Ed seemed unaware of Al's presence and the significance of the arms around him. While he didn't want to be touched, he was not disturbed enough by it to resist, so he remained motionless.

Havoc and Mustang recognized this Ed immediately, with great disappointment. The only good thing, Mustang supposed, was that in this state the ward was quite willing to release him back to the Colonel's care, and they could get him the hell out of this environment and back to where they could start drawing him out again.

"Al," the officer said firmly. "You did very well. Let's get you back to your room. You look like you're getting overtired."

Al looked up, eyes pleading. "But wait! Something's wrong now."

"I know. We'll discuss it if you like, but it's time to go. He'll be fine, as a matter of fact he'd be more comfortable if you weren't touching him. He needs some space right now ."

Al reluctantly slid off the bed and the room began to reel as he backed away, noticing that Ed had folded his arms and pulled up his knees, back into a defensive position.

Mustang caught him in mid-faint as they reached the door to the hallway and carried him back to his room.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for reading and reviewing..._

**Chapter Five**

Al wasn't imagining things. For a moment, Ed knew him. And it drove him away just as they feared, maybe for good.

"Al, listen," Mustang leaned back in the chair by the bed, hands behind his head. "He'll be back. He gets like this, it's been his usual behavior for a while. Then he sort of phases in and out of it, and he's pretty distant and quiet otherwise. The good thing about it is they're letting him come back to the stay with us. I think the surroundings here are a little oppressive for him."

So Ed was going to be leaving with the Colonel. That was probably a good thing. But it raised other worries that nagged at the back of his mind. It hadn't dawned on Al how much things had changed for himself. As a suit of armor, what needs did he have? He didn't need a place to sleep, or food, or a bathroom, or a shower…but now he'd need all of those things. He'd need a job to get money, a place to live, he'd have to be careful not to get sick, or beaten up, or sunburned, or …

"Are you okay, Alphonse?" Mustang asked, watching the worry and tension build in the young man.

"Uh…I was just wondering how much longer I'd be staying here. And then, well…" his sentence trailed off with no where to go.

"Oh." A few of Al's more obvious residence issues had dawned on Mustang as well. "Ed's room is pretty small."

Al nodded. He hadn't expected them to put him up at the military facility. But he'd never been alone like this before. Always, he'd had Ed to look out for them. Ed made those decisions about where they would stay and how they would live. Al suddenly felt like a small child, lost and alone. At least Ed had a place to stay and he wouldn't have to worry about him as well.

Mustang had the distinct feeling he was being a pushover, but he rose to the occasion anyway. "I think we can find you some temporary accommodations at the base. After all, we did let you stay with Edward before."

Al's lower lip trembled in grateful relief. He'd spent the last year buried alive. He wasn't a wimp normally, but his head was far from together yet. The shrinks had been wrong when they assumed he would not remember that experience over time; the ghastly experiences were already emerging in his dreams and filling in the gaps his memory had mercifully concealed from him until now. The impressions of being underground were surreal and deeply unsettling, like the memories of a nightmare that persisted into waking. As awful as that was, it was nothing compared to the clear pictures he had now of cursing and brutalizing his helpless, begging brother and stopping their restoration to deny him his limbs. The whole situation had him far more despairing and off-balance than he had ever been, and considering all that they'd been through, that was saying a lot.

It was nothing short of a lifeline that the Colonel was throwing him. He still had the will to grab it. He had to go on and cope with all of this somehow. Edward had given everything to restore him. He would not let that be in vain. He would find a way to help Ed as well. That goal would give him strength.

But the next day, when Ed was released and left with Mustang, Al found with dismay that they had no intention of letting him go yet.

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Al argued loudly.

"Your heart rate has been erratic up until just yesterday, Mr. Elric. Until we make sure you're stabilized, we need to keep you under close observation." The doctor was unimpressed with Al's objections.

"How is my heart going to be any different tomorrow or next week?"

"Medication, Mr. Elric. If it worsens you'll be placed on medication. We're hoping that you've evened out on your own, you're young and recovering nicely. But hearts, even young ones, sometimes take damage during events of great strain."

"Just give me the medication anyway, then, so I can go."

The doctor smiled humorlessly, shaking his head. "You're being frivolous now, Mr. Elric. Do try to remain calm; it can only benefit you in the long run." The wizened physician gave him a slightly annoyed look, scribbled a few notes on his chart, and left the room without uttering another word.

Al clenched his fists, glaring at his sheet-covered feet. The rush from his frustration and anger slowly seeped away and his look saddened as he wiggled his toes reflectively. He almost - no damn it, he did - he longed for the days when he and Ed stood together, a team and a family all in one, pursuing what at the time seemed a grim and dangerous goal. He would gladly live in a metal husk again, to get that inner warmth and sense of belonging back.

The cold chill of loneliness crept into his heart as he wondered how things were going for Ed now that he was back "home".

o0o0o0o

Ed refused to go in his room at first, threw books in the library and pounded on the windows so hard the glass flexed and they had to restrain him. Mustang had no idea what to make of it. To cap it off, when Havoc tried to get close to him and get through to him when they released him from restraint, he ran. It caught them by surprise. He disappeared for a while, forcing a frantic search, and when they finally found him he was in Mustang's office, curled up asleep on top of the desk.

Mustang sent the others back to their usual business. He closed and locked the door, and sat in his chair to stay close enough to act if there was another attempt to run away. He watched the battered face twitch and grimace occasionally, but the nightmares were behaving, apparently. Rest had to be good for him. Watching him rest quietly was good for the Colonel, he reluctantly admitted to himself. He felt more optimistic having him back here where things were under his command and control.

When Ed woke up of his own accord he was quiet and withdrawn again, apparently unaware that he was perched on his former commanding officer's desktop. Roy ducked his head down and peered into Ed's eyes, watching for a bit. He wasn't disturbing his new paperweight, he noticed the roaming gaze would focus for a split-second when it wandered across his face, but didn't seem upset from what he saw.

The older man guessed that there had simply been too much disruption for Ed to handle. Roy found him unresisting and limp when he gathered him up to carry him to his quarters. Ed didn't soften from his blank stare until they got closer to his room. He began to cling a little with his flesh hand and shoot intense looks up to see what was happening. Mustang found that he didn't mind. He had hoped for something a little less emotional, but even a repeat of that episode in Ed's sleeping room would be better than having him back in his withdrawn state.

"I have you, Edward, everything's fine. Don't let your arm hang loose; it will hurt your back." Ed shifted in his arms but brought the automail back up and wrapped it across his chest obediently. Roy smiled and nodded, still watching where he was going. Ed could safely study his face that way, and his peripheral vision told him that he was doing just that.

They reached the room and instead just depositing his passenger on the bed he sat on the edge of it himself, gradually loosening his hold.

Ed gripped him harder. Mustang glanced around the room for some distraction to ease the transition. The last thing he wanted to do is appear to be rejecting or forceful. His eyes lit on the personal care items stowed in an open plastic tub for lack of a proper vanity.

"You're here, Edward. In your room. If you'll hop off I'll attend to your hair."

The young man looked confused and reluctant to move. The strong hands gently but firmly slid him off and over onto the edge of the bed, then disengaged his flesh fingers from the crisp cotton shirt. The automail still rested across the thin, wiry chest as directed earlier.

Mustang moved to rise and Ed's hands flew up in a panicked movement, ready to lunge for him.

"Shh, now, relax. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm not going anywhere right now." He held a large hand up, palm out, calmingly steady. He stepped back and reached into the bin with his other hand and drew out the worn brush.

The younger man lowered his hands slowly, loosening gaze caught and held by the brush.

The bed dipped again under the powerful soldier as he sat and began with fingers, straightening the worst of the disarray before beginning slow, soothing, methodical work with the brush.

By the time he was halfway through, Ed was actually letting out an occasional sigh of contentment. Roy couldn't help but smile in reaction, unseen behind the wilting shoulders.

By the time he finished his subject was in a mushy, trancelike state.

And his lips held the barest of smiles.

Mustang eased him back and down onto the bed. The smile was still there, growing just a little if it wasn't just in his imagination. The eyes rolled peacefully to regard him for a moment and then drifted shut.

Heaving a sigh full of the tension he had been bottling up, the dark eyes took in the comforting sight on the bed. Havoc should be by soon on watch, and the situation here was under control.

He headed back to his office to straighten his slept-on desk and take care of business.

xxxxxxxxx

The smell of food woke Ed up with a jolt, and his bony-framed, scarred stomach gave a hollow rumble.

Havoc stood in the doorway, a tray in hand. He entered with smooth deliberate movements, and when he saw the eyelids flicker open he spoke in a normal voice.

"Hey, Boss, welcome home. Brought you something to eat." He set the tray on the side table and watched the play of expressions on the normally veiled face. He was ready for anything, in case he still wasn't welcome and it caused the young man to bolt from him again.

The smell of food brought hunger and guilt, like it had countless times when the brothers were struggling, and the youngest was still robbed of his ability to eat and enjoy it. Ed rose to sit up from the hunger, but hesitated to move toward the tray from the guilt. Then his brow creased, because the old memories had been moving him in reflex, and a newer, harsher memory invaded. He grimaced with the realization that Al was no longer with him. Somehow he knew it, although no details would surface at the moment to explain it, and the cold grief was like ice water in his veins. He forgot about the food and the man presenting it and held his elbows, the automail fingers biting painfully into his flesh arm. He had failed at everything somehow. His mind wavered on the edge of dropping into standby. Loud noises were creeping into the outskirts of his brain.

"Edward," Jean leaned forward and took the mismatched hands, prying them into his own. "Don't go, stay with me." He pulled the cloth of his sleeve and guided the fingers to it. It wasn't working the way it was supposed to. Whether that was just for now, or from now on, it was yet to be seen; Ed's hand pulled away and came to rest on Havoc's, as if to stop him.

But the frail face was turned up watching and facing him even though he was obviously having difficulty, a new development. Havoc tried smiling at him reassuringly and nodding. "We're right here in the base, in your room, and you've got no worries. You've been through a lot but everything is fine now. You trust me, don't you? I'm telling you the truth."

The pull to leave the world's threats and hide away subsided a bit. Being able to look up to the man who was trying to help was empowering. Such a small thing, being able to win out over the instinct to stop seeing, stop hearing, stop feeling at the first signs of trouble - just long enough to bring a face fully into focus. But the effect on his sense of self was immense. That tiny moment of control was like an anchor, and he was able to pull back from standby on his own. His mind had been throwing him misdirection; Al was…not dead…he was angry and…somewhere without him, somewhere he had gone on purpose.

The dark look was softening, so Havoc uncovered the bowl and let the tempting aroma of the soup fill the small space. His own stomach cast its vote enthusiastically. The smell was wonderful; bless Hawkeye for the large crock she'd brought in to share.

It didn't look like Ed was taking exception to being near him. He took a chance and brought the food closer, taking just a little in the spoon and cautiously extending it to the raggedly chewed lower lip. He hadn't noticed how badly Ed had been hurting himself there, and made a mental note to apply first aid and do a little once-over to make sure there weren't any other self-inflicted wounds he hadn't noticed.

Ed's eyes flickered to the bowl and the guilt was plainly visible again, but survival instincts won out like they always had. When a dripping spoonful was guided to his lips he opened up with anticipation and took over from there, he'd been so hungry and hadn't been up to eating since returning from the infirmary. He shoveled greedily until the food was half-gone; then his hand began to shake and he started having difficulty managing the process.

Havoc saw the increased tension and couldn't quite tell if his rapidly growing upset was caused by the difficulty feeding himself, or causing it.

He caught the bowl when it started to tip and steadied it, earning him a blush from Ed.

"What's happening, Edward?"

Ed shook his head hard, leaving Havoc unsure if that meant he didn't know, wouldn't answer, or didn't want to be asked. The military man was not going to be put off that easily. Ed was still in the moment and responding. Engaging him in any kind of communication was progress after this length of time.

"Hey, now, you need to talk to me, or show me somehow." He was glad he'd kept a hand on the bowl because Ed shoved it away and it would have hit the floor otherwise. He caught the retreating wrist, and got a look he hadn't seen in so long he'd forgotten it.

A flashed glare. A feisty, annoyed glare. A Fullmetal look. The left side of Havoc's mouth twisted up in a wry smile. That look brought back memories. It was the look Ed would wear as he stormed out of Mustang's office when the man provoked him purposely. He'd certainly seen that look often enough.

"Don't watch," Ed's seldom-used voice sounded strained in its indignance.

"I'm not watching, not really. I'm just here in case you need help. I'll leave if you want."

Ed's head twitched down and his eyes closed. He was still frowning, and his hand came to his brow, rubbing fiercely. "I don't want…" His sentence broke off and he pushed the heel of his hand into the bridge of his nose.

"What?" The blue-clad soldier spoke patiently, encouraging. "You don't want what, Ed?"

"I don't want to need help," he said so softly it was hard to make out his words. "Ungh!" he made a frustrated, sudden noise and smacked his automail hand down hard onto his thigh.

"You're getting there. I know it has to be difficult." Havoc reached out and took the automail wrist, making it a comforting gesture, to disguise his move to restrain the mechanical limb from doing any serious damage.

Ed started to pull back to shake off his hand, then stopped. A figure in the doorway had caught his eye.

"Hey, are you giving Havoc a hard time?" Mustang asked in careful tones.

Ed's flesh hand went to his hair and pulled at it nervously. Suddenly the two men were too much to have in the same room with him, and he bolted up, pushing past them to scramble out into the hall, ending up at the huge windows, bouncing his palms against the bright barrier.

They hung back, once they saw he was going no further, and gave him some space. The squares of light from the windows reflected in Havoc's blue eyes.

"He's different, kind of random right now. He talked more than usual."

Mustang nodded. "Can't say that I'm looking forward to having Al staying here, too," he said, quietly so that Edward wouldn't hear.

Havoc gave him a curious look.

"I'm just concerned that this is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. I doubt Alphonse is prepared for this, and his mental state isn't all that great either." Mustang's mouth turned down. "I'm not running a sanitarium for wayward boys here."

"They should have gone over the edge a long time ago, with everything they've been through. They rank up there with the toughest men I know." Havoc clasped the Colonel's tense shoulder reassuringly.

That eased the frown, at least.

"Hawkeye and Sciezska, Breda, Armstrong, Falman…between all of us it won't be so bad. And maybe things will actually improve when Al gets here."

"Maybe."

"Good, because I heard that Al might be released as early as tomorrow. Looks like the worries they were having about his heart have been resolved."

The dark eyes closed in a sigh. "Were you able to come up with a place for him yet?"

"Taken care of, sir. The old barracks still have a couple of beds in there that haven't been removed for the storage space. He'll have the old enlisted men's facilities to use in there, I checked them out, everything's still functional. The mattresses are airing out in the sun today. If Ed gets better, they could both bunk there with no problem."

The two men fell silent for a moment and regarded the former State Alchemist as he continued to bounce in a monotonous rhythm with the palms of his hands. Ed stood facing the window; but instead of looking out, searching and intense as he used to, he appeared to be seeing very little. The look in his eyes was far-off and unfocused, as if his thoughts had so captured his mind there was no consciousness left to make use of his vision.

"He's not ready for this," Mustang said in dark expectation, voicing only half of his thoughts.

_I'm not ready for this._

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"I managed to scare up a few clothes, they'll have to do for now. I can't really let you wear government issue." Fuery waved to the folded clothing on the bunk.

"Anything is a big help, thanks," Al said. "I mean, I have nothing. Nothing at all."

"It's okay, Al. We care about you, and we care about Edward. You just need some time to get back on your feet, it's no big deal."

"Well, it's a big deal to me. I'm very grateful."

"Here's the closet with the extra linens, toilet paper, towels, soap. The water's been turned back on in the lavatory." He led Al the length of the enormous room and pushed open one of the swinging double-doors leading to a much brighter space.

They peered down the row of a dozen urinals and a half-dozen stalls. "The hot water should be up by this evening. Over here are the showers."

Their footsteps and voices echoed as they finished their tour of the huge tiled expanse, moving back into the deserted living quarters.

"Use one of the lockers over here for your clothes, they're pretty clean. Really, Al, just make yourself at home. If you see anything in here you can use, just clean it up and help yourself. They haven't used this building in a couple of years, and they already removed the furniture they needed for the other quarters. Everything here is just surplus."

Al shivered involuntarily as he scanned the room and picked up the pile of clothes, holding them to his chest.

"I know it's not very homey, but you'll be safe and warm and dry, and fairly close to Ed."

Al nodded and smiled bravely. The cavernous barracks were drafty and full of shadows even in broad daylight. He felt naked in human flesh, regardless of the clothing. The power and invincibility of the armor had grown on him over time, and he was used to being able to withdraw into his shell.

"So, I guess I'll leave you to get settled."

"Wait! Wha…when do I see Ed?"

"Someone will come by later, I imagine. Sorry, but now that I've shown you the basics I've got to get back to work."

Al followed Fuery to the door, and the man pressed something into his hand. "You're still supposed to be recovering, Al. Right now your only job is to get better, and according to Mustang you need more bed rest. My advice to you is to get acquainted with your new mattress. The Colonel is going out of his way to help you out. If I were you, I'd make sure I did what the man asks."

With that bit of sage advice, Fuery smiled and ducked out into the glaring sunlight.

Al looked into the palm of his hand, turning the key over a couple of times. With a resigned slump tilting his strong young frame, he closed the door and latched it, moving back into the dark depths of the barracks to put away his small stack of clothes and station himself on the bed to wait.

xxxxxxxxx

Edward's current state of standby was no longer as insulating as it had been. A hint of threat nagged at him now; the uneasy feeling that people were not who they seemed to be was cheating him of what little comfort their presence used to bring. His world was a little on the tense side throughout the day, and even a few hours of the constant low-level strain was telling. Just the nervousness of watching every doorway and shadow for signs of movement on the walk to the book repository had worn him out. He sat at his reading station and put his head down on his folded arms, feeling vaguely ill. He was far enough into the muted state of mind to drift without specific worries, but overall, the sense of foreboding was eating at him relentlessly.

Schiezka hesitantly called his name, then tried unsuccessfully to get in his field of vision. Finally, she touched his arm.

He bolted clear up out of his seat and ended up under the table, kicking chairs over and nearly hitting the wide-eyed librarian.

Schiezka dashed for the phone, running headfirst into the broad chest of Jean Havoc instead. A loud clap and a flash of light struck them both silent.

The table and chairs had transformed. It was a box with the basic shape of the table, its dark wood sides smooth and unbroken.

After a moment the shock wore off enough for Havoc to step in. He set the bespectacled woman gently aside and moved to the box, rapping on the side. "Hey, Edward? Are you in there?"

Shit, not yet, Havoc groaned inwardly. Not alchemy before sanity. This was an incredibly bad turn of events. He thought he detected a shuffling movement within the box, but no reply.

"Schiezka, get word to the Colonel." Havoc stroked his chin examining the box from all sides. A sane Edward would have put in some sort of exit, but this creation was smooth from all angles.

"Yes, sir!"

"Ed, are you all right?" His tension was starting to rise. Hell, it was beginning to dawn on him that Ed might suffocate if the thing was airtight. Havoc's hands traced the edges, checked the surfaces. "Edward!" He braced his heels and pushed on the side, trying to tip the wood to feel underneath, hoping it didn't have a bottom. But his seeking fingers confirmed with a chilling certainty that it did. It was a perfect cube, within it a soft and possibly expiring center. He gave it an experimental kick with his heavy boot, and the sound was discouragingly solid. "Schiezka, is he coming?" he snapped.

"No answer, sir, I…Lieutenant! Yes, is the Colonel there? We have an emergency here in the reading room!"

"I'll be back, show Mustang what's happened. I need to get some tools!" Havoc darted down the hallway, leaving the librarian wide-eyed and scared.

xooxoxo

Havoc sawed furiously, cursing the unnaturally smooth, solid material that cut with agonizing difficulty. Scheizka gripped her elbows and hovered, as Mustang and Hawkeye pounded on the other side of the box, yelling for Ed to answer them, stay away from the saw and keep breathing, damn it!

Sweat was dripping from beneath the blond bangs into Havoc's eyes when the saw broke through just a bit, and the saw teeth stuck tight. He pulled with all his might to free it, trying to stay calm and work efficiently, but everything that could go wrong seemed to be determined to. Finally it came away and left the small slice of an opening for air to pass through. Havoc tried to peer through it, but the darkness inside revealed nothing.

"Is he…?"

"I can't tell, I can't see."

"Stand aside." Mustang hefted the large crowbar and plunged it into the opening, pulling it down hard with a deafening crack. A fist-sized chunk of the material came away, and they all nearly hit heads trying to look inside.

The small beam of light fell on a motionless, pale palm.

"Ed. Can you hear me?"

"He's not moving. It'll take forever to cut through this with the hand saw."

"Never mind. Just stand back."

Able to see where Ed was now, Mustang slipped on his glove and carefully incinerated a fine path along the top third of the box. When he finished, he motioned to the others and they carefully took the heavy top of the massive cube, sliding it off and dropping it aside. The two men reached in quickly and lifted the limp body out, lying him flat on the floor for Havoc to check for a pulse.

Relief etched his features as he found it regular and strong. "I think he's okay."

Mustang shook his head. "Shit. We were lucky this time. I can't have him running around doing random transmutations, he'll end up dead or hurting someone. What started this, did anyone see?"

"I did," Schiezka frowned. "I touched his arm and it startled him, and he dove under the table and transmuted it."

"Self-defense. Well, at least that's a sane motive, sort of. What has his behavior like otherwise? Anything unusual up until this?"

"He wasn't worked up at all that I could see, or I never would have touched him! He was almost asleep, he looked so tired, I was just going to get his attention and see if he wanted me to walk him back to his room. But I couldn't even get him to look up at me."

"It's all right, I wasn't trying to lay blame here. I'm sure you were being careful with him. Ed, wake up. Edward. Can you hear me?" Mustang gently shook the thin shoulder.

The tired, dazed eyes opened slowly, roaming from face to face above him. His expression was calm and somehow just more Ed-like than it had been in a very long time.

"Colonel?" he whispered, shifting slightly as if something hurt. "What happened?"

Mustang swallowed hard at the unbelievably normal, if weak, tone of Edward's voice.

"You were startled, that's all. Everything's fine. I think we should get you to your room so you can lie down a bit. Do you think you can stand up?"

"I was doing a…I mean I did a…" Ed tipped his head up, catching sight of the now-bisected wooden cube. "I did that."

"We're all pretty much agreed on that. Everything's all right, though. It shook you up more than anyone. Now let's get you to your room."

Ed's cautious look swept over the faces of the people looking down at him.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

"Yes, Edward." She spoke quietly, intensely aware of his clear attention to her every move.

"Um…why are you here?"

"I came to help. Is that okay?" She met his gaze and a moment after their eyes locked, his averted slowly.

"I couldn't get out, could I?" His face was turning away, no longer looking at any of them.

"It's okay, Ed, we got you out." Mustang spoke in a subdued tone, hoping to draw his attention back. "Just don't do that again, got it? No more transmutations until you're well."

"It was dark." Ed's voice was changing, going back to being odd, faraway. "Too dark. No air."

"We're losing him. Let's get him up. Come on, Ed, stand up. Walk with me." Mustang and Hawkeye escorted the wobbly alchemist back to his room, where he balled up tight with his back pressed to the wall and fell into an exhausted sleep from his ordeal.

Once out of the earshot of the sleeping room, a new debate arose: whether to put some kind of restraint on Ed to physically prevent him from performing alchemy.

xxxxxxxxxx

Al waited for two days, with little to do except fret and fume. Being warehoused wasn't really doing him much good, he'd come to realize. It only put off the day when he would be turned out, penniless and empty-handed, to fend for himself.

He supposed he could join the military as soon as he came of age. He could try out for State Alchemist, and if he didn't make it, there were plenty of grunt positions he could fill.

But the thought of shooting people really rubbed him the wrong way.

The knock-and-enter came, almost laughable since nothing he'd said yet after the knock ever slowed the entry, including 'I'm not dressed.' But this time his attention was riveted on his visitor immediately. This time, it was the Colonel.

"Greetings, Alphonse. It's time. Let's see if Ed can handle seeing his little brother in the flesh one more time."

Al's stomach plummeted twelve stories. "Finally."

"Yes, finally." Mustang waited patiently while Al combed his sandy brown hair and gave a last nervous look in the mirror. "Look, you're perfect. Try not to sweat it. But I have to warn you. Ed performed a transmutation yesterday when he was startled and felt threatened. It wasn't well thought out. He put himself in a very precarious position."

Al shot him a frightened look. "Is he okay? Was anyone else hurt?"

"Calm down, he's fine, and no one else was hurt. But next time…I'm just warning you. Be careful, that's all. We've decided that for now, since it was just the single incident, we'll just try to watch him closely. I really hope we don't have to take stricter measures. He tends to panic in restraints; can't say as I blame him."

Al was about to say that Ed would never hurt him…but he would have sworn that he, himself, would never hurt Edward. He swallowed his reply and instead simply nodded, telling himself that Ed would never harm him, not on purpose.

He paid attention to the directions they took, salting away the path to Ed's room in his mind for later use. It turned out not to be his brother's room, but the neutral ground of the briefing room, the regimented rows of chairs harboring but two occupants: Havoc and Edward.

When the door opened Ed shot up nervously to his feet and Havoc kept a hand on him. Hawkeye slipped past Mustang into the room and with a reassuring smile, moved to the next row back and stationed herself in the seat behind the them. The hypodermic she palmed was at the ready. If Ed clapped his hands she was to aid Havoc in subduing him immediately.

The brothers' eyes were glued to one another. Havoc tightened his grip as the arm he held tensed rigidly. Edward was in reality mode, and every detail was stitching itself into his retinas. If he knew how to retreat within at will, he would have.

"Edward, I've brought Alphonse back for a short visit." Mustang moved along with the younger Elric into the room, keeping himself in arm's reach in case Al needed protection - or had to be removed forcibly.

"Can't be…" breathed Ed. "What is this…what trick…"

"Brother, you should sit down."

"Don't call me that!"

"It's me, it really is. I can prove it."

"Don't!" Ed's voice strained into a shout.

"It's okay, Boss, calm down." Havoc tried tugging on Ed's wrist, to give him a grounding physical focus to counteract the emotional tangent he was heading off on. It had no discernable effect.

"It's not Al! Why are you doing this?" Ed's eyes were flashing at the Colonel with distrust.

"Why do you say this isn't your brother?" Mustang asked; he had been hanging back a little, just watching the two. Ed was getting entrenched in this mindset, and that would be hard to overcome. "I can vouch for him. This is Alphonse."

At that inconceivable statement Ed's head began to move back and forth, and his hands covered his ears. Havoc and the Colonel, both, were refusing to believe or protect him. There wasn't anyone left to turn to. He was too painfully aware of how crippled his own defenses were. The scars on his body stitched and pulled to remind him of the price if he resisted in the face of such odds.

"Do it now, then, just get it over with. Do it! Whatever you came to do to me, just please…finish it."

Tears began to leak from between his tightly closed eyelids. Where was the sanctuary of that stupor now that he was more than willing to dive back into it? This thing in his face could finish the job, end it once and for all, and if he could just make it into standby first it would be a relatively painless end. He tried to convince himself that this was the most he could hope for, an acceptable conclusion to the nightmare that his world refused to allow him to awaken from.

Covering his ears and closing his eyes wasn't enough of a shield to give him time to think. Coming back into reality was too painful, and the rapidly declining reasons to fight his way back into it had him beaten to a pulp. The memories were merciless blows. His brother hated him and left him for dead at the gate with a right cross meant to be the end of his life sentence. It wasn't his fault Al had botched the job.

Confused and completely helpless to control his own behavior for any length of time, at this moment he was overwhelmed. He sagged in defeat still hoping for his mind to retreat and isolate him from this, knowing the next moves by heart. The torment, the taunts, the cleverly applied excruciating pain…amplified by the agony of being powerless and manipulated by a heartless enemy. How long would it last this time, how far would they go?

To Havoc it seemed that Ed had relaxed somewhat as the arm he held drooped. He nodded to Al and released his hold.

"What, Ed, finish what? Do you think I want to hurt you?" Guilt flooded the younger Elric's veins. _Hurt him some more, hurt him again, is what you should say. He has a good reason to think that you might, even if you can convince him that it's really you._

Al spoke louder, getting close to the covered ears. "I didn't come to do anything bad to you. More than anything, I just really wanted to see you."

Without a reaction it was impossible to tell what to do next.

Al put his hands over Ed's, feeling the military personnel's eyes drilling into him. Ed shocked hard, jolting back at the touch. He kept his hands over Ed's and pulled both of their hands away so Ed could hear his next words.

"Ed, it's me. You must know my voice. Ask me anything, about Mom, about Winry, anything. I just…I miss you, Ed, it's too hard without you. And you're right here, and so am I, and there's no reason that we should be missing each other now. You do miss me, don't you?"

If anything the tears increased, but the mismatched hands lost resistance and fell away from his head. Al let them go and tentatively pulled his brother into a desperate hug. He hated being on display during all this, but he wasn't going to let it interfere.

Ed began pulling away, gasping deep in his dread. "You can't be Al. Al wants me dead. He couldn't keep up this act. He hit me. He hates me…"

"No, no I don't, not ever. I was…"

"Don't let him take me, don't let him take me, not again," he interrupted plaintively with his eyes still closed, hope sinking completely as neither Havoc nor Mustang tried to intervene.

"I'm not trying to take you anywhere. Listen, I was angry at you, I was sick from being. ..from everything that happened, that's all. I'm over that now. I'm really sorry. All I want to do is put us back together again. Just…I want to put you back together again."

The room grew silent, but Al felt the first tiny concession as Ed stopped pulling away. He shifted his arms to be more supportive, and blushed a little as he followed his instinct and patted the thin back gently.

Minutes of silence passed. Hawkeye , who had risen to her feet when Ed did to make sure he didn't get out of hypodermic range, looked past them to Mustang. With a casual twitch of the officer's eyebrow she was dismissed.

"Is there somewhere else we can go?" Al asked. He wanted Ed to sit next to him and hopefully relax, but he knew enough about his brother's automail that the cold metal chairs would be painful for him for any length of time. "Someplace more comfortable for him to sit down?"

"Of course. How about the couch in my office?" The Colonel was not inclined to let Al know where Ed's room was quite yet.

"It would be a lot better than this. And it should be familiar to him." Al carefully stepped back, hanging on to just one arm, and Havoc, standing, automatically took up the other. Mustang led them out, the two taller men flanking and supporting Ed, carrying as much as guiding him down the hallway. He was unresisting, although with his head hanging down concealing his face, it was hard to say what his reactions were to being moved. The Colonel's cold glare cleared the passageway of onlookers, much to Al's relief. As they went by Hawkeye's desk she didn't quite smile, but her look was encouraging.

They sat in unison on the couch, a bit snug for three. The man in the middle studied the floor dimly, dry-eyed now. To Al, he seemed to be spent.

"Edward," Mustang's voice broke the silence from his seat at his desk, startling the boys. "Look at your brother. You spent so much time and risked everything to get his body back for him. Now you should look at him. "

The amber eyes that startled up and met Mustang's held a look that begged for rescue instead, and he steeled himself against that pitiful stare. "Do it, Ed. It's an order." What the hell, Ed wasn't really cognizant of his separation from the military. He needed a breakthrough or he'd be forever walking into this wall instead of finding his way back to reality. It was worth a try.

Ed obeyed , shaking uncontrollably when his eyes met Al's soft brown ones just inches away. "See Ed, it's just Al. Your little brother. He's been sick, too. He just got out of the infirmary himself."

A moment of guilt crossed Ed's face at the news that Al had been ill. This close, even his quick look revealed a pallor and thinness that his brother should never have. Contrasting lines of thought pulled his mind in many directions. Envy was here to kill him in disguise but what if it really was Al, who had been ill and buried; and all of that was his fault, and now here he was the cruel one who refused to help. He was wrong about something or everything and nothing was going to make sense ever again. The only thing he could be sure of at the moment was the nausea starting to grip his upper abdomen in a twist of tension and claustrophobia.

"Say something, Ed. Say something to Alphonse," Mustang ordered again.

Al shook his head involuntarily; it was Mustang who was pushing too hard. "It's okay, you don't have to."

Ed began to wriggle, feeling trapped, and beads of sweat were growing on his pale, marred forehead. His automail fingers began rattling together rapidly. Al had never seen Ed experience involuntary automail activity of this sort; it was one of the symptoms of automail rejection they had always watched for when he was feverish or injured, but luckily had never seen. Havoc and Mustang didn't seem to be worried by it. Al made a mental note to ask if this was part of Edward's condition somehow.

Al gave up and slid to his knee on the floor. "Here, let me give you some room." He rested a hand on the flesh leg lightly, following it as it slid over quickly, away from Havoc.

The move away made it easier to breathe, and the rattling stopped. It was an unexpected act that seemed like a kindness. Ed was taking in the younger boy's face in tentative glances, looking away to absorb what his eyes were telling him. The odd light that he had seen in the murderous gazes of the homunculi did not seem to be there. He couldn't trust that flimsy bit of evidence completely. He couldn't be sure that the Colonel hadn't been fooled. This Al was offering to tell him anything…he could maybe ask about…but his mind was fighting, refusing to give him access to the old memories only the two of them would share. The length of time they were together here was something, too. Envy was impatient to an incredible degree. Keeping up a front this long would drive him crazy.

The thing was, he could have been finished off ten times over at this close range, unarmed and in easy reach. Possibilities tumbled in his head from the ridiculous to the sublime. It might really be Al. Could his brother have changed so much that he was faking reconciliation, was still angry and wanting to hurt him? He could hope even for that if it meant they were back together. Or, no. Maybe this time, his brother was their captive now, being abused into revealing his whereabouts, explaining how they'd found him here, and that was how Envy had known the way his brother looked and what he might say. That thought shocked him back from his willingness to surrender.

All of the options were agonizing. Every one seemed as likely as another. If this wasn't true, and he let himself fall for it, it might be the end of all hope, but worse, it might doom Al to the same fate he had experienced.

He couldn't be a coward and give up, then. He couldn't allow himself that luxury. What if they did have his brother captive? No one else would know to save him.

The only way to find out what this thing was, and what it wanted, was to interact with it. A searing pain welled up behind his eyes. The raw memories of his torture simmered in the background, bringing out the urge to escape at all costs, and the contradictory urge to stand and fight to make sure the same fate didn't befall Al.

"I thought you'd be glad, Brother. I'm glad to see you again and I missed you so much. Don't you want me to be all right and be here with you?" Al's voice was gently pleading, with no sign of anger.

Edward's hand came down and hesitated over Al's. His eyes were cast down and only Al could see the look in them, glassy and terrified. As soon as he saw it, he felt guilty, forcing himself on his mentally ill brother because of what he needed. That expression was one he'd seen before, when Barry nearly killed Ed, when the transmutation of their mother had gone wrong, when the homunculus nearly killed them. He had no doubt Ed would be fleeing if he thought he had that option.

But one thing about Ed, he was brave beyond all reason. The tips of the fingers on his flesh hand touched on the back of the hand resting on his knee. For Ed the room seemed to begin to spin slowly, centered around their hands. He had to lean slightly into the rotation to stay upright.

The longer Ed sat looking distraught and confused, the more Alphonse became convinced that they needed time alone, together, just to be together so Ed could get comfortable like they used to be. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see how conflicted and upset his brother was. Setting them up in this intense, confrontational meeting was too hard on them both. Al held his breath, oblivious to everything but himself and Ed. Had he looked around, he would have seen Mustang and Havoc similarly frozen.

Ed's breathing was getting harder, faster, and in the silence of the room his distress was disturbing them all, like a painful itch.

"I won't judge. I'll try to understand. It might even make you feel better if you get it out in the open. Just please, tell me why you don't want to see me." Al tried to get some clue, some hint what direction his encouragement should take.

Ed's face crumpled, but his hand gripped Al's now, holding tight.

"Maybe that's enough for one day," Mustang said quietly. "I think it might be best if I take Al back to his quarters."

Al stiffened but held his tongue.

Instead of relaxing, Ed's automail arm slipped forward and gripped Al's shoulder. "No!" The room was picking up speed, and the dizziness was making speech difficult.

"You don't want me to go?"

"No, wait. I need time... I can't think…" If this thing held Al captive, he shouldn't let him go.

Al gave a pleading look to Mustang. Ed was tipping sideways, holding on for support and riding the bashing waves of emotion that battled the shores for his sanity. Al looked away when he saw the motion the Colonel was starting to make, shaking his head in negative response. They were going to take him out of the room and make him desert Ed. He leaned forward and tried to pull the unsteady blond into a hug. Ed's flesh hand darted out and gripped his other shoulder, as if to hold him away but keep him from leaving at the same time.

"Can't be..."

"I told you, ask me anything. I'll do whatever you want for me to prove it. Look, how else would I remember Bearphonse? How about the little horses we transmuted for Mom? The time Dad made you hold the bucket of water to show how hard it is to carry a baby?"

"That's enough, Al. Let him go." Mustang motioned and Havoc reached over to support Ed, ready to restrain him.

"They say I have to go now, Ed, because this is too hard for you right now. I will go if that's what you want…"

"Alphonse! Be quiet. Ed, we should get you back to your room. We can do this again tomorrow, maybe after you've had the night to get a little more used to the idea." Mustang rose, trying to keep a neutral look. Ed was withering from the strain, Alphonse was starting to look a little too worked up, and it was time to call it before it got completely out of hand.

"No," whispered Ed. "I need more time."

"I could sit with him in his room!" Al blurted. "he's upset, he shouldn't have to be alone."

"That's not a good id…"

"Stop, just stop," moaned Ed.

Havoc tugged but Ed gripped harder. Mustang did stop for a moment, holding up a hand to put Havoc on hold, and waiting for his decision was starting to anger Al. Ed said he wanted him to stay. They weren't his soldiers anymore, either of them. What right did he have to keep them apart?

But he also knew just how much they were dependent on the man's hospitality right now. Not unlike when they had been stuck in the military to have access to the things they needed to undo their failed transmutations.

The Colonel eyed them with a slight frown. What he really wanted to do was order them to do as they were told, and get things squared away. Enough walking this tightrope for one day. From what he could see, Alphonse just didn't understand how removed from reality his brother was. This wasn't going to happen in a day, or a week, or even a month. Couldn't the boy see, from the way he reacted even when ordered to talk, that Ed was simply unable to comply? Who knew what Ed was thinking? Other than the few lucid moments, the older Elric was still truly mentally unbalanced, and just expecting him to come around because you ask nicely was a little crazy in itself. Which led back to that nagging feeling that Al wasn't doing nearly as well as he let on. He kept seeing progress where there had been little or none.

"If," Mustang said tightly, "if I let Al go with you to your room, we'll need to put your natural arm in a restraint. I can't have you getting worked up and performing alchemy while I'm not there to stop you. You know how you feel about restraints, Edward. Are you willing to do that? If you wait until tomorrow to take this up again, it would be easier for you." Ed was growing increasingly unsteady, and Mustang wasn't sure if he had really understood what was said. If Edward couldn't form the thought to agree to the restraint, the answer by default was going to be no, and Alphonse would just have to deal with it.

The vertigo was worsening, wearing him out, and the blond head dropped forward for a second, then snapped back up. He clung to the Al thing and an image of the teddy bear it had mentioned hung in the forefront of his mind. Restrained, no, he couldn't be restrained, not again, not tied up and have this not be Al and it would be the torture all over again, not again, not ever again. The room was dimming and a distance was beginning to open up between his spinning head and the interior of the room. Finally, finally the path to standby was opening, and the will to resist it was long past. The voices were fading, and his hands grew numb. By the time he lost consciousness he was fully disengaged from his body and his situation, unaware of the commotion his withdrawal from the room had created.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Havoc and Al moved in reflex when Ed began to slump, and they had him lying on the couch by the time his slightly tremoring body fell without consciousness. Al was pulling at Ed's shoulders frantically, trying to get a response, and he didn't stop when Mustang instructed him to. He still didn't stop, even when the dark-haired man gripped his shoulders and ordered him to.

Al was shocked that Mustang had frightened Ed with the threat of restraining him, scaring him so badly he passed out cold. What was he thinking? What if Ed associated him with that threat along with Mustang, thought he was in on it? He would let Edward know, if he'd just wake up, that he totally disagreed with that kind of harsh treatment. That if it was up to him, he'd make sure it never happened.

He'd seen the terrified look in this brother's eyes before that heartless threat flattened him completely. His anger at the Colonel and the agony of watching the words do their worst plowed his already thin veneer of self-control into splinters. When those large hands gripped his shoulders, he spun with an arm pulled back and a fisted hand, on the verge of losing control and ready to throw a punch.

Realizing that Al was overwrought, Mustang put him in a restraining hold instead of decking him and pulled him away, dragging him out of the room in spite of his frantic protests. Hawkeye joined them, rising from her desk with a grim look as they passed by, and followed them back into the briefing room. She still carried the sedative, and now she was standing by with it for the other Elric. But once he noticed her, the Colonel shook his head, frowning. She got the message and left Mustang to deal with the situation here, heading back to help Havoc see to Ed.

"Stop it, Al. Calm down!" Mustang pushed the boy into one of the hard chairs and gripped his arms with serious force, holding him firmly in place. "Settle down. Now!" The disparity in their size and strength was magnified in this position. The mature officer was hardened by his daily fitness routine and was by nature tall and broad-shouldered, an imposing figure in a physical confrontation. Al, still recovering from malnourishment, was under-muscled, pale, slim and not yet full-grown; he was dwarfed by the man leaning oppressively over him. And yet, he lashed back. He wouldn't be bullied into silence. No man was big enough to back him down from helping Edward.

"Why did you have to say that to him? You saw Ed, he needs me. What's so wrong with it if I can help him? He asked me to stay, you heard him!" Al was growing hoarse, his dry throat sticking against the angry words.

"That went too long as it was, longer than I should have allowed. You can't just keep going when I call it, this is pushing him very hard. I'm concerned that we'll drive him clear back into his old state for good if we take it too far. It's taken too long to get him to this point for you to ignore that risk and ruin it all now!"

"Me? You did it! You threatened him with restraints, after everything he's been through! He doesn't need that kind of so-called help! He doesn't need you! He needs me!" Al was not sitting still for being bullied or letting anything like that happen to his defenseless brother. He was also not sitting very still just because Mustang had him in a painful hold; while not exactly fighting it, he was wriggling against being forced to stay in place with those dark eyes drilling into his just a few short inches away.

"You think I like having to say something like that? I couldn't leave him with you, in that state, free and able to do a transmutation. I sure as hell wasn't going to throw restraints on him without a warning just so you could have company tonight. He had to be warned first." Mustang's voice boomed in the empty room and he took a deep breath to slow himself down. Al's eyes were unfocused and wide; he looked terribly distraught. This had to feel like an attack to the boy and he firmly reminded himself that he was not dealing with an adult soldier. He reigned himself in before he continued, in a calmer, quieter tone.

" Listen to me, Al. He needs stability, and disruption is frightening and painful for him. He isn't just trying to come back from the guilt and horror of what he did to you. Although that alone is bad enough. He was tortured, and no one but Ed and his captors know what happened. But if you 'd seen the wounds, you'd know that it was worse than you can imagine. When he remembers things and when he deals with reality, he has to be remembering that torture, too. It shakes him hard. He hasn't worked through it, any of it. Up until very recently, he was too disturbed to hold a conversation, much less go through any kind of therapy." He loosened his hold, afraid the tears he saw welling up might be, in part, due to pain. "And you haven't had time to adjust yet, either, Al. He can't help you. We need to find someone for you to talk to when things get rough."

"I'm not asking Ed to help me! I'm just trying to help him!" Mustang was off-base…but a touch of guilt made its way to Al's chest. He didn't think he was acting on the need, just because he felt it. He was trying to watch himself so that wouldn't happen.

"Look. Havoc's been helping Ed a lot. Ed trusts him, because he went out of his way to keep an eye on your brother and talk to him even when most of the rest of us were ready to write him off. He cares about both of you. Maybe it would help if you spent some time talking with Havoc about it."

"I don't need some assigned 'friend'!" Al blurted. That was insulting, and unfair. It was like they thought he was mentally ill, too.

"That's not what I meant. Talk to him and get some insight into what Ed's been like since the torture. He was the first person to break through and communicate with him. I'd think you'd want to know everything you can to figure out how to help Edward."

He let go, and Al seemed to shrink down in the chair, that dose of guilt and regret bringing him more into control. Mustang had to remind himself how young Al was, and how impatient a teenager can be.

"We've been taking care of him for quite a while. We take good care of him. This is what he's used to now, and for the most part he's been all right with it. I don't want you to worry about that, we've got it covered. And as far as seeing him goes, if he asks for you when he wakes up, and he's in good enough shape, I could send for you. But I'm only going to do that if I can trust you to stay in control."

A knock at the door interrupted them. "Yes?"

Fuery leaned in, motioning, Hawkeye peering in over his shoulder. Mustang rose and excused himself to join them. The three stood whispering just outside of the doorway.

"We moved him. Ed's resting in his quarters now. Havoc figured you'd want him to take Al back to get something to eat and escort him back to the old barracks; whenever you're ready," Hawkeye said.

Their commanding officer nodded, considering his next move. "Sure. He just got a little overexcited, I think he should be cooperative enough now. Why don't you two join them, Fuery, Lieutenant?" Mustang asked. "Take a little extra time. This is really getting to him, I think he needs a shoulder or two right now."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. But someone should stay here with Ed in case he's still upset when he wakes up, shouldn't they?" Hawkeye responded as Kane nodded.

"I'll take care of it, I'm going to be here for a while. I'm afraid all this has put me far behind in my paperwork," he said wryly. "But you all go and try to have a decent time. If you want to eat off base, put it on my tab. Just keep it reasonable if you do."

"Alphonse," Mustang raised his voice again. "You need a break."

When the Lieutenant came in to lead him out, Al started to shake his head stubbornly but Riza gave him a gentle hug and a sympathetic smile. It was an unexpected and painfully welcome kindness.

"Come on, Al, Ed's all right…he just gets exhausted easily. He's resting comfortably and he's going to be fine for now. I heard that you haven't had anything to eat or drink all day. Join me, let's go relax somewhere quiet for a little while. I've missed having you here. It's good to have you back, although I have to say you do look different. You're going to be quite a lady-killer with those eyes." Little white lies about Ed's condition aside, she spoke sincerely. She genuinely liked this sweet and highly principled young man.

Al blushed and a corner of his mouth ticked up in embarrassed acknowledgement in spite of himself. Riza Hawkeye was a very pretty lady and he had noticed it on more than one occasion. He often thought that Winry might look like Riza when she got older, and he had always been pleased at that thought.

Much as he would have preferred to find his bunk and a pillow to scream into until he joined Ed in unconsciousness, he didn't want to be rude to the Lieutenant. He had regained his composure somewhat now that the first blush of anger had worn down. And he was painfully thirsty, even if being upset had dampened his teenage-boy appetite down to a dull roar.

The corner of Mustang's mouth quirked up too, barely noticeable. Al was a good kid. Hell, Ed was too. As Hawkeye guided Al to sit by her desk to wait for Havoc to join them, Mustang went directly to Ed's room.

"Get out of here, Havoc. You're going with Hawkeye to take Alphonse out to eat; he's calmed down enough, you shouldn't have too much trouble getting him to go. That should help the transition when you take him back to his quarters. Try to win his confidence and see if he'll open up to you; I suggested he talk to you to get some insight into Ed's mental state. He balked at the idea of talking his problems out with you, so this might give him an outlet anyway."

Havoc nodded, gesturing to the motionless figure on the bed. He seemed reluctant to leave. "This is just brutal for him. I'd wager there's nothing he wants more than to reconnect with Al, but his thinking and his emotions are so disrupted it looks to me like he's about to break down again. I get the feeling that he's still not sure that's really Alphonse. Maybe his torturers used Al's image as part of the psychological attack. It's just a guess, but it's not hard to imagine."

"Let Al know all that. Really. He needs to understand why Ed can't just fall back into their old relationship quite yet. The timing for this dinner is pretty good. Make the best of it. And hey - no prime rib. This is on my tab. Got it?"

"Shrimp and filet mignon it is, Colonel," smiled Havoc. Mustang shot him a mock glower before clapping his hand on the broad shoulder and propelling the smart alec out the door.

"I'll stay here with him. So don't worry, and try to have a good time."

Mustang sat carefully on the edge of the bed and leaned over to check the pale face. It wasn't evident how the young man was doing, he just seemed to be asleep, and he was very still. Brushing stray blond strands from the closed eyelids, Roy sighed, frowning as he realized he forgot to bring his paperwork.

He barely had time to waffle over whether Ed would be all right alone for a few minutes while he went back to fetch his work. Maybe it had been the touch of his hand, or perhaps just a coincidence, but something had started. The bed creaked and the blanketed figure next to him was moving, struggling with an invisible force.

Not one of those damned nightmares, Mustang thought, taking Ed's shoulders and shaking firmly.

"Edward! Fullmetal!"

The thrashing went on, and Mustang let him go on for a while, trying every so often to contain or awaken him. Until he came out of the deepest part of this state, all the shaking in the world would do no good. Mustang watch closely and moved to stop the automail when necessary to keep Ed safe. Finally, the thrashing was slowing. If Ed followed his usual pattern, he wouldn't remember a thing, and he'd be anxious to get out of bed and walk around in spite of being sore and worn out from struggling. The Colonel took him by the shoulders again as he showed signs of coming out of it, this time to pull him away from the wall and straighten him in the bed.

Ed's hands flew up and grabbed the Colonel's wrists, his eyes opening wide. Mustang let go, but the hands fought at him still. "Off, get off, what did you do with Al?" Ed gasped. "Did you let them hurt him? Did you?"

"No, no, Ed, Al is fine. Al's having dinner out. It's still early. You were having a nightmare." As he spoke the older man reversed the hold, careful not to grip too hard.

That response confused Ed, worming to slip out of the other's control. "But they…they found him. When did you see him, how long ago? They have him, they found him, we have to go save him!"

Whoa. This was a lot of speech, and an unbroken train of thought, even if it was simply the mistaken thoughts from a dream. The officer tried to lead him back into the present situation without breaking this spell of open communication.

"He's with Fuery, Havoc and Hawkeye. If anything happened, they would have sent word. What did you dream about, Ed? Who had Al in your dream?"

"The ones with the wires and the hooks!" Ed lunged up out of the bed unexpectedly. When he went to dive past and rush the door, Mustang caught him easily and held onto him tight. "Let me go, we have to find Al!"

"Stop. Stop it now, Edward. I'll send someone to check on them, but I'm sure they're fine. You're in no shape to go anywhere, you're trying to run out of here undressed. Now settle down. I can call Falman to go check on them."

"You don't know where to look. He's out there, out…" Ed made a half-hearted strain in the direction of the windows.

"He's with Fuery, Havoc and Hawkeye, I told you." He considered Ed's mental state. He was still talking a lot, expressing himself well. If he could formulate his thoughts into words right now, he should be able to listen, too. An explanation might sink in, and that would certainly go further than physically restraining and then comforting him. Maybe he would be able to understand right now, if he would just calm down a little more.

"No, not…" Ed grabbed his own shoulders. "Not that Al. He must be lost, you have to find him before they do!"

"Listen to me, Edward. Just listen. The person who is having dinner with my staff is your brother Alphonse. I do know. No, don't turn away. Listen. You went to rescue him from his hiding place and he was very upset at being buried. It seems that he did hit you. He wasn't quite sane himself at the time. You went with him to the Gate, with a stone. And he got his body back. I was there, Edward, when the two of you came back. That is the person who came back with you. That is your brother. The Al in the armor left with you; and that body came back with you. Understand?" Mustang held firm, ignoring Ed's flinching and attempts to make a break for it. It was painfully apparent how hard it was for him to be forced to listen to this.

Ed's resistance was slow to let up. Mustang held him patiently until all motion stopped.

"Do you understand? I'm not asking if you believe me, just if you understand what I said."

Ed nodded without looking up. He wished Havoc was here and not the Colonel, because he wished he had someone to hang on to, just for a minute, just to get his balance, just so he wasn't defending himself all alone.

"He's not lost?…not lost…but I…" Ed was shivering, and Mustang found he was having to support his weight as he seemed to be a bit unsteady in his arms.

"Can I trust you? Sit back down on the bed. If you go for the door again I'm not calling anybody. We'll just sit here until someone reports in. Got it?"

"Find him." Ed sat reluctantly.

"I don't have to find him. He's not lost. "

"If that was Al I want to see him. I want to see him again." He rethought his words as soon as they left his mouth, alarm sitting him stiffly upright. He wanted to see Al, but he had no assurance that his enemy might not be delivered instead to shove his brother's captivity in his face. Confusion abducted him from the normal exchange of their conversation; the approach of deafening thoughts began to edge him into loud mode. The assault on his self-control took on a life of its own, a mash-up of current fears mixed with dark memories.

_Lies, lies, lies, _his mind mocked in Envy's distinctive screaming laugh_. Everywhere a lie, lie. You believe anyone, that's why you're so pathetically defenseless. That Al's a lie, this Mustang's a lie, and as soon as you decide to take a step, the ground will disappear underneath you. Every choice you make is wrong. Give up, and tell us where he is, or the next cut is deeper. The next lash is harder. The next bite is mine. And the next. And the next. Bit by bit, I'm still eating you alive. This is too much fun to ever let you die._

"You...what is it, Ed? Edward. Easy, now. Ed, breathe. "

The room was out of focus but hadn't quite given way to the images associated with Envy's words. Mustang's voice had managed to break through.

_Who's talking to me now?_

Ed followed the Colonel's voice when it interrupted Envy's chilling threats.

_Who is this really? Was Envy in his own head, or was it a projection from this man, or was he somewhere nearby?_ Stretched between reality and the heavy pull of the nightmare realm, nothing was making solid sense. His seemingly irrational struggling resumed as he frantically tried to see, to get a clear shot at the view out the window, to make sure there were no blind spots or any way for someone to sneak up on his back. He managed to get just out of Mustang's grasp.

He launched himself up and back when Mustang's hands came near to attempt to re-take a hold on him, no longer sure what the intent was in touching him. He was standing on the bed, crawling backwards against the wall as if he could climb up it like a spider. He knew the room like the back of his hand, and even with this level of disorientation he knew there was no room to retreat any further, no path of escape that would avoid coming closer to the owner of those dark eyes.

Mustang's right hand retreated and reached into his pocket, just checking for the sedative, not quite committed to using it yet. He dropped his other hand as well.

"Ed," he said, very quiet and even. "Look now. I'm not reaching for you any more. I didn't mean to scare you. Breathe, Ed. Steady, now."

They were in a stalemate. Ed was plastered against the wall, and froze there as long as Mustang held still. If he offered a hand or spoke, Ed resumed his pointless struggle to climb away somehow.

Experimentally, Mustang stepped back and fell silent.

Ed stayed against the wall, but after a minute or so he shifted, his stiff posture easing just a bit.

Mustang stepped back again and froze. Ed dropped to his knees on the bed, hands in front of him defensively.

That position was better, less extreme. It would give Ed a chance to slow down and maybe get a little more grounded. He was really out of it, it was easy for Mustang to see the trouble Ed was having looking at him directly or even looking in any one direction for long. He kept looking at him sideways, keeping him more in his peripheral vision, but always intensely aware of his movements. The officer took one slow step to the right and smoothly pulled the chair from next to the bed and sat with exaggerated slow motion. Ed's darting eyes watched his every move as if he had a machine gun pointed at him.

So he sat and waited. Other than tackling the younger man and knocking him out, he didn't have very many options.

The quiet of the room began seeping into the former alchemist's awareness. The voices, in his head and in the room, slowly stopped. The room stopped crawling in and out of focus, and the shadows stopped squirming and took their true, benign shapes. Nothing remained but the warmly lit room, the Colonel seated a few feet from the bed, and the belly full of fear and insecurity. Al's situation had been the trigger for all of this, and there was nothing in this room at the moment that was related to it; there was no imminent threat. His suspicion of the military man eased for the most part. His gaze dropped, softening from its hunted look and losing the urgency to keep Mustang's face in visual range every second.

Mustang took that as a sign that Ed was coming out of his state of panic.

"Hey," he said softly. Ed's head shot up. "It's just me, Edward."

Ed was balling up now as he sat back, tucking his chin in tight. His back was pressed hard against the wall; he began to gnaw on his knuckles, withdrawing into his own defenses.

"Talk to me?" the Colonel ventured.

Ed shook his head, turtling it lower. He was getting situated back into the room, making sure this was the real place, hesitant to get too grounded in case this setting was going to slip away.

That was a response, at least. Encouraged, Mustang began to talk again, using a soothing tone.

"That's all right, then. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. You can sit right there and maybe relax a little more. I know you've had a hard time today. We're not going to be so pushy next time, Ed. It's not fair to you. "

His senses were evening out, the impression that Mustang was a threat was dissipating even more. The room was looking even more familiar and the ground was not dissolving, teeth were not crushing the flesh of his back, and Envy's voice was not echoing in his head. The fright loosened in his chest and the tension was releasing, and he gave it up in gasping breaths and watering eyes as he began to get a grip on his own actions and emotions again. He was in his room, this was his true place in time and space. The relief made him feel shaky and weak.

It looked, from the outside, like the beginning of another attack of panic. Mustang reluctantly fished in his pocket and started inching forward, expecting Ed to make an attempt to escape, and that he would have to sedate him after all. This couldn't be allowed to go on and on, Ed had been through too much today, and he was getting far too exhausted to let him launch into yet another bout of emotional upheaval. He crossed that invisible boundary into Ed's personal space and readied for the reaction. Ed had gone still and looked him right in the face at that point. He knew he'd have to get a hold on the blond's arm at least; it would be better if he could secure him in a restraining hold to keep him quiet while the drug did its work.

When he got close enough to grab him, Ed came forward and his hands flew up; it was not to ward him off, but to take possessive hold of his jacket with both fists. Ed buried his forehead into the broad chest.

"You're all right." Mustang took hold of him securely in surprised response. "I've got you."

Ed moved his head back and forth blindly; it made for a sadly cute, nuzzling effect.

Mustang smiled at the curious feeing. "It's going to be okay, you know? It's going to get better, and easier, little by little, until everything is okay again. And then someday, when I remind you of this, you're probably going to kill me."

Instead of responding to the joke, Ed shivered. Mustang waited until it stopped before speaking again. "Just give it a few minutes. This is good. You can just stay put, okay?"

Ed nodded without looking up.

"Good. Remember, I'm here to watch out for you. I'm sorry that I upset you, I absolutely did not intend to. If you want to rest, just let go. Are you okay now?"

"Yeah." Ed's voice was a bare whisper, and his voice wavered, but he did respond. He peered up over the broad blue shoulder at the softly lit room. It actually looked kind of comforting. It was hard to understand now why it had been deathly terrifying here just an few minutes ago.

"I know you're tired. It's been a tough day for you. Go ahead and relax, I'll make sure nothing happens."

Ed leaned against him for a minute, watching the room soften even more, taking the tension out of his body.

He hadn't noticed the bare prick of the needle when he'd grabbed the Colonel's jacket, and the light dose of sedative was melting him from the inside, mudding up all his thoughts until they lost shape and meaning.

As soon as his eyes closed Mustang trundled him down, tucking him back into the bed properly. Well, that would take care of Ed for a couple of hours at least. After all of that tension, he rather wished he could stick himself with that damned stuff and take a break along with him. He palmed the sweat off his forehead and checked his watch, and with a sigh decided to hit some of the paperwork in his office instead of hauling it into the small room and having to juggle it on his lap. He lowered the lights and made his way down the hallway, his form reflected in the windows against the darkening view. Just a tiny bit of unease was nipping at him that he had told Ed he would stay to watch over him. Well, he'd be back before long to take up the watch again, and until then, Ed would be sleeping safely and soundly.

xxxx

The eyes that peered from the cover of the scruffy cedar tree enjoyed complete concealment while watching the tall officer walking down the brightly lit hallway; those huge windows nearly turned into one-way mirrors when the world grew darker outside. The dim doorway to the sleeping room where the sickly alchemist seemed to reside was open and unguarded now, as it used to be. These breaks in supervision were truly few and far between these days; he wasn't sure if the older man was heading for a rest room break, or leaving Edward alone.

But as he watched, the dark-haired man moved further and further along, past the lavatory. He kept right on going until he'd gone completely down the straightaway and made the left turn, his path continuing out of the visible windowed hallways altogether.

He scuttled up to the glass when there was not a soul in sight, moving to get the angle with the most visibility into the sleeping room. Part of the bed and the person on it was just exposed. Asleep. Alone. It was him, without a doubt. The automail was still there. Still there? Well, he would be damned - the disturbance they'd detected was not Edward Elric taking the stone to the Gate to be restored? Had he just taken it there to destroy it? What a waste. Or perhaps they were wrong…perhaps he hadn't used it after all? The disturbance could have been someone else, some other explanation. Then it was possible that the stone was hidden away still; and, perhaps, just the right persuasion was needed to convince this pathetic soul to give it up like a good boy.

Not yet, though. Ed's behavior was too erratic, they were obviously still treating him like a deranged toddler. He was only a little better. Until he was more lucid, their methods of extracting information would shut him down in the first heartbeat and they would get nothing from him.

From time to time then, it was just a matter of checking back from time to time and waiting. Let the fools make the effort to bring that stubborn blond shit back into reality. When the time was right, he would lure him outside alone. The final lesson was yet to come. He'd have to do some serious thinking to find a finale to top the activities from their last little get-together…but he was nothing if not creative, and human abuse was his specialty after all.

Just a little something for now, though. Just for fun - because he simply couldn't resist. He called out into Edward's unconscious mind and salted it with his unique presence. Because sweet, delicious Edward so loved his unique presence.

He laughed to himself with deep satisfaction at the instant wild writhing that propelled the man off the bed face-first. He backed away from the glass slowly into the cover of darkness again to watch the moron beat himself senseless against the floor at the mere hint of his proximity. When the fighting stopped as suddenly as it had started, no doubt due to that last solid connection of forehead with flooring, he called it a night, finally turning to bound away in few roof-clearing leaps. There had been no one much around tonight, and there would be more nights like these. This was amusing, like keeping a pet to watch in his own little display case. And these idiot soldiers did the feeding and the cage-cleaning for him. How thoughtful of them.

xxxxxxx

After an hour of diligent reading, signing, and wondering, Mustang made his way back down the hallway. After his pit stop, he moved on down to Ed's room. Havoc should be checking back in pretty soon; that they'd been gone this long was a good sign. Al must have settled down enough to sit for a proper meal, and they would have had an opportunity to have some calm dialogue. Ed would still be out cold for another hour at least; he'd just take a quick look and then go work through some more requisitions.

"Ed! Shit!" He dropped down to his knees next to Ed's awkwardly splayed form, face down at the end of a drying smear of blood on the cold hard floor. "How the hell…" He carefully rolled him over, wincing at the bruising beginning to blossom across the pale skin.

Ed was as still and relaxed as he had been when Mustang left him. That sedative should have eliminated the possibility of dreams or nightmares, and he wouldn't have been able to wake up. What happened here?

Talk about not watching out for him. Roy lifted him back up onto the bed and went for a washcloth, wetting it and mopping up the dried blood his nose and cheek. Maybe some kind of seizure? Should he take him to the infirmary? A small knot was raised on the scarred forehead. But his pulse was strong and regular, his breathing light and easy, and for the world he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. The Colonel thumbed open his eyelids; the pupils were reactive and equal. Okay. So, he fell out of bed. And…maybe the shock of the fall brought him partway around for a minute, and he was in motion for a bit before he fell back asleep.

He went to the phone and called the infirmary to request a medic for a field call. He wasn't dragging Ed back into the hospital if it could at all be avoided. With an assurance that someone would be out within the hour, he laid the rinsed, cool cloth on Ed's forehead and sat heavily to wait.

x

The medic was just leaving when Ed started coming around again already. No sign of concussion, the vedict had been just a nasty bump and a bloody nose, nothing to be alarmed about.

He was waking up much sooner that the Colonel had expected. Maybe the dose had been short, maybe he hadn't been given enough and it was a nightmare that made him hit the floor after all.

Ed was fighting to reach consciousness, to get his defenses up. Envy's unmistakable presence had shaken his mind into chaos, at the same time that he was completely helpless and alone, sedated so that he could not even cry out for help. It had been a mocking warning and nothing more; but the firestorm of memories were released. Those sharp, powerful teeth were clearly in his mind's eye, eating him alive, ripping chunks of flesh from his torso and then devouring them inches from his face while his eyes were forced open, unable to look away. The impact of that memory doubled him over, forcing his weak, drugged arms to move and hold himself as best he could to protect his vital organs just as he had back then. He even remembered wondering why he did that, when the best thing that could have happened at that point would have been to have it end quickly.

"Edward, why are you awake?" Mustang puzzled quietly. "It's all right. You really need to get some rest. Go back to sleep."

Of course he wasn't going back to sleep. But in all the turmoil, one helpful flash of information had re-emerged: the memory of how he had finally learned to distinguish Envy, in his many forms, from the people he actually knew.

It was the smell. No matter what Envy did, no matter how perfect his image, that slight graveyard stench was just detectable at close range. In most cases, by the time you were close enough to smell it, you were already in whatever trouble the monster had in store for you, and it was too late. But at least you knew who you were dealing with.

His automail seized the older man's wrist and pulled it to his face. Mustang pulled back instinctively at first, then just relaxed his control to see what Ed was up to. Ed was breathing against his bare wrist, he couldn't see that he was doing anything else. He tensed when Ed's mouth opened and his tongue made two quick passes over his exposed skin. The next thing he knew, Ed was sucking on his wrist. Okay, it appeared that the young man was somewhere in la-la land at this point. He didn't want to get bitten, that was for sure. He tugged and spoke firmly.

"That's not acceptable, Edward. Let go."

Ed did release him and covered his face in his hands in relief. Absolutely. This was not Envy.

"He was here." Ed worked hard to get the words out. "Here."

"Shh, now, Ed. You're tired, and you had another hard fall. The medic said rest and quiet were the best things for you." Mustang caught the automail arm and pulled it smoothly away, back down by Ed's side, so the metal fingers would stop worrying at lump on his forehead.

"You…are you." Ed said, looking up oddly.

"Yes…" Mustang's eyebrows were arched up, waiting for the point to that statement. "Last time I checked, I was still me."

"Mm." He could trust him, then - sort of. He smelled right. Wetting his skin and tasting it made no difference. That time when he was grappling with Envy and had bitten him in desperation - that taste was more painful than the hottest pepper he'd ever had yet it was nauseatingly rotten, like a moldy orange. There was nothing like that in Mustang's skin - just a normal, slightly salty taste, a warm and almost pleasant uniquely human smell. He didn't often think of the Colonel as being a warm human being. That odd little connection when he tested the older man's flesh was compelling somehow. It tugged at the part of him that remembered what it felt like to be close to someone, to not feel isolated and alone.

Would that test work with a body that had been removed from the realm of the living and revived through the Gate?

If he ever saw Alphonse again, would he reek of death? Could he ever know, then, if it was truly him? Would he be able to stand to be near him, ever?

Ed began pounding on his forehead to try and stop that unexpected and unbearable thought, it was beyond what he could deal with at the moment.

Mustang had him restrained by the second blow. Even though they weren't very hard, this behavior used to escalate dramatically back when Ed had first been retrieved. That was during the period where he was not allowed out of bed without an escort, and his hands were tied when he was unattended. The last thing they needed was backsliding clear back to square one. And now here was Ed, randomly sucking on people's wrists and then hitting himself in the head after braining himself on the floor.

"Don't," Mustang warned. "Look at me."

Ed pulled, still distraught at the thought of Al smelling of death.

If he did have that odor, there would be no way to really trust him. He would never, ever be able to know when he was truly with his brother. He wanted to see him and put him to the test. But he also wanted to see him, yet never let him close enough in case his senses told him things him mind would never, ever accept. He wanted to run away and never see any of them again. He wanted to live the rest of his life in the protection of standby mode if all the things he feared came to pass.

As Ed refused to look up and resisted him feebly, it was becoming painfully clear to the Colonel that this was starting to call for more supervision now, and not less. In the mechanics of being an officer with a job to do, this was getting to be untenable again. Sure, many of the hours, such as right now, were after his normal tour of duty, and how he used that time was his own decision.

But during the day, and having the staff participate? How could he justify this, if it came into question?

Before, for a very long time, other than the episodes where Ed would escape, he didn't have much impact on the daily manpower. He took care of himself for the most part, made his little rounds and reported reliably to the library as directed. A bad spell here and there required some small investment in time, but other than that, he was no more trouble that the cats they fed behind the mess hall as unofficial mousers for the compound. But if staff had to be stationed with him all the time, it would eventually come to the attention of his superiors, and not only would Ed be ejected, Mustang's bid for promotion might be slowed if he garnered an official reprimand.

"Come on, Ed. Stop it!" Mustang shook him harshly. It was for his own good, if he didn't straighten up, he might end up living out his life in an institution after all. He could keep being crazy and take his time regaining his sanity, but the behavior had to be controlled somewhat. "This is what happens when you see Al. You're a wreck. I'm canceling tomorrow's session. You can't be doing self-destructive things like this. Look at your lip, you're damn near chewing it off."

"Al." Didn't he want to at least have the opportunity to see what this Al thing smelled like? He didn't dare wish for him to smell like a normal human. That was being too greedy, too naïve. The thought that he had been in set up to see Al and lost the opportunity through his own stupidity began to have an impact. "No!"

"I said stop it. Settle down. I'll tell you one thing, this isn't going to get you anywhere." At some point, Ed's behavior started to seem more willful than out of control or frightened. "You need to behave now."

Ed felt more secure in being disobedient now that he was more convinced that this was the Colonel.

"Let me see Al!"

That came out of the blue. Ed sounded argumentative.

"Why should I?" Mustang shot back.

"I need to see him. I can't tell unless I see him up close."

"It didn't make for a fun playtime today, did it? What's the rush? He is fine, just like I told you earlier. He's gone out. If you behave from now on, I'll reconsider canceling your meeting tomorrow."

When Mustang pushed on his shoulder for emphasis to show that he needed to stay where he was and stop acting up, the older Elric allowed it but with an indignant resistance.

Ed muttered something that sounded suspiciously like the word 'bastard', but he nodded and fell back stiffly on the bed.

Mustang heard that derogatory term loud and clear. "I swear, Elric, you get everything backwards. Everyone's pulling to get the old charming Ed back and you start your recovery with random alchemy and that bratty streak that drives me nuts."

But Ed wasn't listening as a figure filled the doorway. Havoc stepped in and Ed lunged up at the sight of him. The more awake and free of the sedative he became, the more he wanted to act on the things that were tumbling around in his mind.

Havoc started to smile, for a moment thinking that Ed was reacting because he was glad to see him. But his smile faded; the expression on Mustang's face was dark, and as Ed gripped him and looked up, his agitation and distress were woefully apparent.

"Hey, Boss, easy there. What's wrong?" Havoc caught him up by the elbows, steadying him.

"Al! Where's Al?"

"I just dropped him off. He's staying here on the base."

"Alone? Left him alone?" No, that wasn't right. They should be watching him.

"He's on the base, Ed, and I made sure he locked himself in. He's fine." He carefully reached out and stroked the hair back off of Ed's forehead. He hadn't been seeing things, there was a new bruise and lump there. Things must have gone from bad to worse after they left.

"No, I have to see him. Don't leave him alone." Ed closed his eyes for a moment in reflex at Havoc's touch, taking in the feeling of the much-needed kind gesture.

"Ed had a bad dream," Mustang said patiently. Havoc raised an eyebrow and nodded back in reply.

"Al's fine, Ed. Not five minutes ago I saw him. He was going to read and go to bed, that's all." Havoc kept a hand on Ed to stabilize him.

"You're not listening. You don't get it. Please, bring him here, or take me to him." He let Havoc support him, trying to make him understand.

"Did Hawkeye come back here with you?" the Colonel asked.

"No, sir, she went on home. I, uh, have her things, though." Havoc reached in to the pocket of his blue jacket for the syringe case but Mustang held up a hand.

"Just hang on to it in case I need it later. I had to resort to that earlier, it's too soon to - you know - again. Ed, things aren't easy for your brother right now either. He needs a good night's sleep just like you do. I promise we'll all sit down together again tomorrow."

"But he's not safe." Ed's voice sounded smaller, more frightened. Havoc was listening to the Colonel and ignoring him, and he wasn't really acting like he cared at all.

"Not tonight, Ed. Tonight it's just a nightmare. And now that it's done you should get back in bed and get to sleep," Mustang said.

"Nightmares are real. You don't know." Ed made an evasive move to prevent Mustang's hand from touching him, not wanting to be near either of them now, scooting wearily back as far away as possible on the bed. "Please, something could be happening to him now. Right now!"

The older man frowned. It wasn't his intent to upset Ed again so much he didn't trust him, and he didn't want to keep causing setbacks. Ed was more himself right now than Mustang could have hoped for. That protective streak was classic Fullmetal.

"You've been through some real nightmares, I understand that. I know it must make it hard for you to feel safe, or have faith that Al is safe. Look, if you want, we'll see if we can find some way for him to stay here with you sometime soon. There's not much room, but I think we can work it out if the two of you start to get along better."

"Why can't I stay where he is?" Ed clenched his fists, clumsy with fatigue, the automail scraping itself. "It's because it's not as safe where he is, isn't it? He's not safe! Am I right?"

"Look, Boss, if you're that worried I can go stay with him tonight." Havoc held out his hands helplessly. He really didn't want this to escalate. If Ed had been dosed with sedative, it would have been since they left - two and a half hours or so ago, maximum. Far too soon to dose him again, so their only recourse if he got out of control would be to restrain him. How on earth was Ed so awake this soon after being medicated? Something was way off here.

"Why can't I stay with him?" Ed was using up the last of his will to fight . "We're not prisoners."

"Keep up the insubordination and you might be," Mustang said mildly. That stubbornness. It used to drive him crazy, and it still did.

Havoc gave his superior office a 'please cave in sir' look. Mustang clamped his eyes shut and threw his head back in frustration, letting out a long, beleaguered breath. "I shouldn't."

Ed was chewing at his lower lip again, staring at the man who held him powerless.

"Damn it, Havoc…" Mustang growled when he opened his eyes again and saw Edward's pleading look. He shook his head. "This is not a good idea. I think this is going too fast."

"What does that mean?" Ed breathed, near the end of his rope.

"I means…Edward, you're not the only one deeply disturbed by all this. Alphonse went through a hell of a lot, too. He…"

"Don't you think I know that?" Ed blurted, suddenly on the verge of tears with no energy left for self-control. "I put him through hell! I buried him alive, can you imagine that? And then I just left him to rot there all that time! To keep him safe, but now…now…he might go through it anyway! All that and he might still…"

"No, no, Ed, that's not my point. Remember that you did what you did to save him. "

"Unnnhh…" The long day had abraded away the last of his defenses. Vivid visions of Envy's attacks as they would play out if directed at Al in human form, in his mind's eye still a small boy's body, blasted Ed completely out of reality mode. Mismatched hands clutched at his head and he pitched forward. Both men moved reflexively to intercept him before he went off the end of the bed. "Unnh..uuhh…uhh…"

"Shit. What is it, Ed? Ed?" But the guttural sounds died away and Ed grew still.

The distant look was back, and his eyes wandered, casting their gaze disinterestedly around the room.

"Aw, no…" Mustang grabbed the young man by the arms. "Damn it, I don't know what to do for you anymore."

If the blond heard him, there was no outward sign. His head was tipped forward loosely against the broad shoulder, eyes half-closing and still roaming slowly. A quiet peace settled on his tired features

"You're kinda holding him pretty tight there, sir," Havoc said quietly. The skin was reddening where the Colonel's fingers gripped hard into the pale flesh arm. He released his hold as Havoc carefully took Ed away from him, settling him back on the bed to study the air and the ceiling.

"See to him." Mustang's' face became an impassive mask as he straightened up and marched out the door.

Havoc shook his head sadly, settling on the chair next to the bed with his elbows on his knees. He thought it would have been better to just let Al come here and stay, but this wasn't an "I told you so". Maybe things would have been worse it they had. Alphonse was having a hard time watching Edward's phases, and maybe he would have had to witness this setback right in front of him. Their discussion at dinner had been incredibly sad. Alphonse was so alone, and having somewhat of an identity crisis at suddenly finding himself back in a flesh body he barely recognized. He held himself responsible for Ed's illness. And he lacked the support that his brother had found. He wanted to return to his old hometown, but couldn't leave Ed behind and couldn't take him, and couldn't make the fare to get there anyway. His body was improving at a snail's pace from Al's point of view. He felt helpless and useless, two things he had never really thought about himself before. And the visions of being buried alive woke him in a cold sweat at least once a night, with no one to reassure him in the shadowy, cavernous barracks. Al did need to bunk with Ed as soon as Ed was up to it. It would probably do wonders for him.

Who the hell knew. It was obvious to Havoc that this was killing Mustang, master of personnel management, to keep getting thwarted in his attempts to help these guys. He patted the flesh hand and it flicked once convulsively, as if shaking off a repulsive insect, and then rested unmoving under his touch. Havoc's dinner rolled uncomfortably in his tense stomach; it looked like it was going to be a long night after all.

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks for hanging in there and the r&r..._

**Chapter 8 **

Morning brought a little sunlight into the tiny interior room, reflected up from the polished floor of the hallway. Small, tearful nightmares dotted the night throughout after Ed fell back asleep, and by the wee hours he had cycled back out of standby completely. In half-awareness he had let Havoc comfort him. This strange new pattern found them wrapped together in the dawn, snoring like chainsaws and deeply exhausted. When Hawkeye came in early to let Havoc go home and take over the watch, they both awoke slightly, whimpering and shifting like sleepy puppies unwilling to untangle from the comfort and warmth of the other body.

Havoc sighed heavily into the soft blond hair, reluctantly opening his eyes. "Guess it's time to get up."

"Un-uh," Ed frowned, burrowing further into his living security blanket. Havoc really didn't have the best smell in the world. He always smelled like smoke. But the base smell was human, real human, and that was worth hanging on to.

Havoc couldn't help but smile, and Hawkeye didn't try to hide her amusement.

"Rough night, boys?" she asked lightly.

"Very," Havoc said, smile fading. "Edward, are you all right now? I was worried about you last night."

Ed blinked up at that, slowly realizing he was using a grown man for a teddy bear in front of the Lieutenant. He started to push away a little too quickly and both officers put a hand on him, determined to keep him calm.

"It's all right, slow down," Hawkeye said.

"Take it easy now. I'm getting up, you can stay right there." Havoc rose slowly, keeping a hand on the point where cold automail met pinched flesh.

"Where's Al?" Ed stared up at the Lieutenant.

"Fuery took him some breakfast and checked on him an hour or so ago. He says Al eats like a horse in the morning." Hawkeye smiled reassuringly.

Ed blushed and took some deep breaths to let that rush of worry pass. Al, if it was Al, was fine. He was overreacting again.

"See there?" Havoc said. "He's all right. We're watching out for him. I'm more worried about you."

Ed looked from face to face, his momentary embarrassment fading. "No, don't. About me. I'm okay."

"I can see that you are." Hawkeye met his searching eyes. "Just making sure you stay that way."

Havoc stretched and his back popped like bubble wrap.

"Gee, Havoc!" Hawkeye looked at him sideways. "Nice outfit, by the way."

"Gettin' old," Havoc groaned as he stretched back the other way, one more pop sounding off. He retrieved his starched white shirt and uniform pants casually, not at all bothered to be in just an undershirt and blue boxers in front of Riza. He dressed without any apparent self-consciousness, even flexing and slapping a bicep before pulling on the shirt with a look at the Lieutenant that seemed to playfully ask if she liked what she saw.

"Don't even. Go home," she snorted, smiling wryly.

Ed blushed, awake enough now to feel odd about making Havoc keep watch over him all night.

"I got enough sleep, but I sure could use a shower. I'll be back in a while. Ed, you okay with that?"

"Uh-huh." Ed rubbed the back of his head a little nervously. "But, thanks." He remembered the panic, thinking Al was in danger. But it seemed like that might have been a dream this morning. Al was on the base somewhere, and they said he was safe and sound. It didn't make him any less anxious to get on with the meeting, to see if he was brave enough to test Al's status as a mortal being and cope with the results of that test. He had to do this somehow. Because, if the thing that was safe here on the base was not Al…

"Any time. Better than sleeping standing up on watch." Havoc said, slipping back into his jacket.

Mustang hovered in the hallway, eavesdropping. Ed sounded really good this morning. If he hadn't come out of standby, the Colonel was planning on going back to his office and locking himself in, throwing himself into the explosion of paperwork on his desk. The boys weren't the only ones feeling the stress from all of this.

"So, did anyone get any rest last night?" Mustang asked lightly as he stepped in.

Ed, sitting upright in the bed, slumped down and looked embarrassed, crushing the sheet to his chest. "Sorry." It was uncomfortable having everyone standing over him, all of them dressed while he was still in bed, too many people for the small, enclosed space. It seemed like they always treated him like he was sick. He was tired and confused, kind of upset and nervous, so very uncomfortable…but he wasn't an invalid. He didn't have some fatal disease or gangrene or something. But still they seemed to think he was terribly sick and needed to be in bed. Now that it had come into his awareness, it seemed like it was all they wanted him to do. And then they looked down on him for being lazy and weak.

"Ed, I…" Mustang spread his hands helplessly. Who knew Ed would have such a normal reaction to that? "I didn't mean it like that. I was just kidding."

Even if Mustang seemed to be looking down on him, Ed drew a lot of strength from the officer's attention and support. Things were beginning to feel solid, reality felt just a little more real. The transitions into the nightmares and odd spells were more disturbing from this point of view and he was no longer inclined to give himself over to them without a fight. But the dark horrors deep in his mind hadn't been exorcised, so he couldn't simply haul himself up by his bootstraps and step back into normal life by force of will. His damaged body reminded him of his ordeal even when he managed to turn his thoughts away. And his mind, well, it just kept getting away from him no matter how hard he tried. But at least he could try now, and it was getting easier to recognize when his actions followed his reasoning and which things he did because he was out of control in one way or another.

Something in his sense of survival continued to work very hard to try and make him keep his suspicions to himself. It worked in direct opposition with Ed's emotional need to feel safe and supported, to trust someone to have his back again. The urge to tell Havoc or Mustang everything that he feared when he positively identified them as not being homunculi was almost irresistible.

He was enough himself this morning to be mortified by the spells of irrationality and emotional upheaval. Now, here was Mustang, apologizing for mentioning his abnormal behavior. It was all wrong in the context of his former self, and it made him withdraw a little.

If he could tell them his secrets, they might not understand anyway. If he gave away the fact that he was aware and on guard and they didn't take him seriously, they wouldn't keep his caution a secret. It could be retold carelessly, in front who knew who. And them Envy would know, and he wouldn't bother with skirting around and being secretive. He'd attack straight away with no reserve.

The smell and the sting of those razor-sharp teeth pushed out from his memory into the borders of his awareness, shrinking his bearable reality zone. Mismatched fisted hands came to his mouth, pressing against it anxiously. The battle with his thoughts trumped the conversation in the room. His eyes were open and cast down, but he wasn't looking at anything. He could feel himself heading off now, part of him trying to seize control and withdraw to evade any further upset.

The room wavered in his vision and he dropped his hands to grip the side of the bed. The edge between reality and the places his mind tried to flee to was becoming more distinct, and he seized the opportunity to fight off the transition. It wasn't much, the pause was slight…but sometimes now, it was enough. Enough that he could avoid just slipping helplessly off the face of the earth when his gut turned tail to run.

The hand on his shoulder helped, anything positive that grounded him in the present helped. Mustang was here alone with him now; the other two officers had gone out of the room, their departing remarks unnoticed.

"Edward, are you all right? Ed?" Mustang had seen the transition too many times not to recognize it in his expression. But it was also apparent from the rest of his body language that this time it wasn't going smoothly. It was unusual for Ed to be so keyed up and nervous first thing in the morning, but since the return to the Gate, most of Ed's old patterns had been greatly disrupted. It was probably a good sign in the long run, or at least Mustang hoped it was. Because in the short run, it was making it very difficult indeed.

Ed slipped a hair further near the edge, struggling. Of all times, not now! If he went over he couldn't meet with Al and he had to get that over with, no matter how hard it was to face it. Outwardly he slumped and his face was masking over into standby. Inside, he was nowhere near giving up.

He suddenly prevailed and shocked back into the present, shaking his head hard. Mustang's image came back into sharp focus, watching him intently, gripping his shoulders now.

Ed seemed to be pulling himself together as he took in a reviving breath.

Mustang was surprised to see Ed had reversed the transition somehow. It seemed like a good thing; hopefully it was a step in the right direction, and not just an unusual event that indicated Ed was becoming less predictable. He kept a hand on him, watching, not quite sure Ed was stabilizing.

"Here. Al's coming here. When?" Ed was oddly shaking his head as if to say no as he spoke.

Mustang monitored him closely. "I'll have him brought over if you're sure now that's what you want. We can wait, Edward. If you're still not certain, if you'd like a little more time, we can wait."

"I have to see him."

His head kept shaking; Mustang considered the possible reasons for it - maybe in disbelief? Worry? A subconscious desire for the meeting not to happen after all?

"I have to ask you again, even if I sound like a broken record. Are you sure? Just now, I could tell you were having a problem. I don't know if you think you're hiding it from me, or what, but I saw it clearly. I have major concerns about this."

What could he say? Ed nodded. "I'm sure." It was a half-truth. He was sure he had to do this. He was nowhere near sure that he could cope with it.

"Ed. I guess I'm going to take your word for it. But you sure don't sound very convincing right now. You understand - really understand - that Al is going to be in the same room with you again? You didn't have a good reaction to that last time."

"Are you going to stay?"

The worried, fearful tone of Edward's voice caught the Colonel off guard. "You want me to stay, don't you?"

"Um…" His head changed course and nodded. "I do."

"Then of course. I had planned on it anyway." Roy waffled for a moment over asking the next question. It was a very provoking and stressful subject; but it was just going to keep tripping them up until it got resolved. He forged ahead. "Ed, tell me something if you can. Sometimes you say it isn't Al, that it can't be - what do you mean by that? The goal was to get him his body back, was it not? Was that something you didn't actually believe you'd ever accomplish?"

Ed looked away, and there was a long pause.

"I thought…sometimes I think…" _Sometimes I think it's Envy. Just tell him!…but wait. It's been a whole night. I haven't verified this presence today at all._ He held back yet again. "…that maybe it just can't be him."

Mustang nodded.

"And if it's not him?"

Ed gasped and gave Mustang a true deer-in-headlights look as his only response.

Now the Colonel saw clearly just how afraid the young man was, and when it came to Al he still had those doubts eating away at him. It was a big enough hurdle to get back to real life after all the young man had been through. With the additional challenges of coping with the returning memory of barbaric events and being re-united with a relative who had just shape-shifted from a suit of armor back into the flesh, he didn't need to be dealing with anything that he perceived as an imminent threat. Unfortunately, it looked like the relative and the perceived threat were one and the same.

This was going to require more time, more attention, more finesse. More around the clock babysitting. It was still early in the day, and here it was kicking off with an overload of high drama. Mustang didn't like drama; Ed truly was fortunate that the Colonel cared about him so much. He took his involuntary role as Ed's guardian very seriously. Just as he had been willing to make the hard decision to have Ed placed in long term care when he thought he was unlikely to ever get well, he was committed to making the continued effort to help him get back on his feet now - even though this appeared to be a long, tedious, uphill battle.

"I believe that it is Alphonse, for what that might be worth to you. Remember, he's been ill, and he's just now getting his strength back. So you might want to take it easy on him. And if you're really still thinking it's not Al, for God's sake don't meet with him now. It's too hard on him. On both of you."

Ed shook his head, the urge to get this resolved was too great. "I can't wait. I'll be good."

"I think it's going to be hard on you, too."

"It's harder to wait."

"We'll do this in my office again, then. You still have some doubts, you just admitted it a minute ago. So we won't let him near your room yet."

Those words struck Ed oddly. Protected from Al by hiding the location where he slept…he didn't hear Mustang's next sentences as he bit at his flesh hand anxiously and tried to find his place in that kind of a statement.

He did catch the fact that he was about to be left alone by the motion that finally caught his eye, and before he could edit his reaction, he jumped up and followed Mustang out the door into the bright hallway.

"I didn't mean that you should come with me now," the Colonel said. He turned back and saw that Ed was looking at him in alarm. "It'll be about an hour."

"An hour?"

"Ed, concentrate, okay? In about an hour. I'll come by or send Hawkeye."

"What are we doing?"

"You don't remember?" He leaned down just a bit, to make sure they really had eye contact. "You'll be able to meet with Al in my office. Are you feeling all right? We just now discussed all this, it was only a minute ago." Mustang watched at Ed was biting too hard on his lower lip again, making it bleed. Too much stress too soon. It was remarkable that Ed was still communicating at all, actually, especially after last night. Mustang extended a hand, intending to get a better look and stop Ed from biting himself. That move sent the older Elric jumping back and his hands moved to clap together.

Mustang's military training kicked in and in a flash he had Ed's hands apart and the rest of him carefully contained, pinned to the wall.

Ed was straining up to get his nose against the nearest bare skin, just barely reaching the taller man's neck and breathing into it deeply to check his identity again.

Mustang was completely puzzled by that action, on top of the sudden defensive maneuver. What the hell was that all about?

"Colonel." Ed pronounced in an exhaled breath that took the resistance in his stance with it. Envy could shape-shift at will, he had to keep that in mind always. People needed to be verified every time they left his sight and came back, but if he did, there was a great strength in being able to believe in the identities of the people around you. It made the whole world seem more solid.

"What were you about to do?" Mustang demanded. It jolted his captive back into alertness.

"What?"

"What transmutation were you setting up for, Elric? Just then. What was it?"

Ed wilted back in the face of the taller man's harsh look and tone. "Sh-sh-shield. F-from my automail." His voice peeped quietly in answer.

"You can't, do you hear me? No alchemy. None! That's an order! You do this again, and I'll have to take steps to prevent it. Got it?" he barked into the pale face. When Ed nodded stiffly, Mustang relaxed his hold. Ed began sliding along the wall, sidling away as far as he could. He resumed his correction in a much quieter tone.

"It's for your own good, Edward. For your safety, and for the safety of everyone else here as well. Now stop. Stop right there."

Ed continued to move a few more inches away before he could stop.

"Now hold still a minute, I was just going to check your lip there, and try to get you to stop chewing it up. Stop biting it. Look, I know it's a stress reaction, but I can't just let you chew your own lip off." He took Ed's automail arm and led him back into his room.

With a wet, cold washcloth to use on Ed's lip, Mustang approached, slower this time.

"Why did you think you needed a shield, Ed? From me?"

Ed nodded.

Now Mustang was in a tough position. If Ed was that easy to set off today, there probably wasn't any point to setting up a meeting. But calling it off would definitely get Ed in a state. Al, as well.

"Tell me something, Ed," the Colonel said quietly. "If you feel this way, how can you be up for a meeting? Maybe, you know, what you need is a little more quiet time. A little more time to rest and stabilize. See, just then, I just went to touch you. That's all. And you took it as a sign of aggression. And you know it was me, see? So, Ed, let's wait. Do you understand?"

"Please," Ed clutched Mustang's arm and clumsily brought his face close, to keep his words private. The bloodied washcloth fell to the floor. "I…it's because…I can't, but I have to."

Mustang grimaced and shook his head, but didn't push Ed off. "Ed, I'm sorry. I don't really understand."

"If I tell you…" Ed was struggling to make the commitment to tell his secret. "If I trust you…"

"You used to trust me. I don't think I ever let you down. Not when it counted. I'd like to help you trust me again." The Colonel gave him a worried look.

"Don't tell, not anyone."

"If you have a secret to tell me, I'll keep it." It feel like the atmosphere was growing heavy with the deadly serious look he saw in Ed's eyes.

"I can tell up close. Real close. I can check your skin. And then I know. That you're not…him." It came as a low, shaky whisper.

Mustang lowered his voice cooperatively. "Not him. And who is it? Who did you think I was?"

For a moment, it looked like Ed had changed his mind. He shook his head and turned away, tense and aggravated. But after a long minute, the Colonel's patience paid off. Ed turned back, and he looked on the verge of tears, forcing himself to speak.

"Envy." Just speaking that name broke open a cluster of memories, flashes of the actions that left indelible evidence all over his body. It diverged his attention, even as he tried to maintain his conversation with the Colonel.

"Ed?"

"Envy…he…and I…" Ed was pawing his own torso through the thin undershirt with his flesh hand, tracing carelessly over the scars and disfigurements. Trying to confess his suspicion was like opening a floodgate. Everything, every memory, thought, feeling and fear involving that name was coming loose and pouring into his mind. The past battled to prevent him from prevailing in the present, but he pushed ahead.. "…and he'll never stop."

"Is that who you hid Alphonse from?" Mustang asked gently.

"Yes," Ed was shifting from foot to foot now, moving all over, still pawing at himself with one hand, gripping the officer harder with his automail hand. "Yes. Yes. And he did these things. See this, see here, this part, he ate this part, and this part, and this piece he tore off first and when…and when…and when…see, he showed me, before he ate that part, he showed me and he chewed and he laughed and then he looked just like Al in his armor. Just like Al. Just like Al…"

Ed's sanity was questionable now, in touch enough with the moment to continue relating the information but completely lost in the events; he tried to narrate until he was just babbling words. He re-experienced the devastating blows of mental cruelty; the deep suffering at seeing his closest comrades' expressions of ecstasy as they took turns administering evilly clever and deviant physical insults to his helpless, injured body. "Just like Al," Ed's voice went on, words run together. "Like Al. Like Al. Al's armor. Just like Al." Ed's eyes were totally out of focus, half rolling up in his head as he lost himself in the recall.

"Ed, I think that's enough, let's stop now. None of that is happening right now, you're remembering things, but they're just memories. Come back to me." Mustang swallowed hard to put aside his own shock and horror , and put a hand to Ed's cheek, trying to direct his head down to catch his awareness. Was Ed really saying those large disfigurements were in fact missing flesh that had been chewed off and cannibalized right in front of him? It was impossible to suppress a shudder, and the hardened soldier fought down the cold, hollow jolt of nausea. "Come back now. I've got you. "

Ed was immersed in his vision of Al's armor, the gray metal gauntlets already glistening red with the blood flowing from the gaping wounds from Envy's assault. The huge hands had lifted him into the air by his head, the suspended weight of his body and the automail threatening grave injury to his spine, so he dare not twist or struggle too hard. His chin was being deeply gouged with the metal spike but it was just a bonus, a desirable side-effect to the bites the metal jaws were inflicting on his torso to further aggravate the already searing pain. The rake of that metal hurt more than the new assault on the raw bite wounds. The spike was duller than it looked, and the rough furrows it tore in his chin and neck made for the ugliest scars that would forever show in public.

Al's voice had rung true. It sounded for all the world like his beloved little brother spitting those venomous words.

'If you really loved me, Brother, you would put an end to all this. You'd tell them where the stone was so I wouldn't have to do this. You're such a loser. You know you're nothing without me, right? Useless fuck.'

It was the right voice and it did look like Al's armor. But if the language hadn't given him away, if the actions hadn't spelled it out, the smell absolutely did - Envy, not Alphonse, was the metal man who mercilessly assaulted his helpless body. That rotten stench filled his nostrils as the spike raked a few inches from his olfactory organ. It helped Ed to cling to his silence right up to the point where they gave up and left him, chained and near death, for someone else to deal with the clean up. It also made for tenacious, antibiotic-resistant infections on all the wounds, a condition that weakened his immune system and left him chronically ill and perhaps never to fully recover.

The words 'like Al' repeated countless times before Ed's voice faded and fell silent. His pawing had slowed, then stopped. Mustang held him still, a result of being unsure what to do, and thoroughly shocked by the descriptive words he had just heard. Beating or whipping or electric shock - he'd been around in his days in the military, and he'd heard quite a wide variety of interrogation practices. He, himself, had done unspeakable things with his unique talent to cause pain and suffering for his enemies and captives when ordered to do so.

But having seen Ed's wounds when they were fresh and untreated, and envisioning them being inflicted in this way, was deeply disturbing to say the least.

That the experience had damaged Edward mentally was not at all a surprise.

"You're quiet now, that's good, because you can listen to me. Are you listening?" Mustang held the scarred jaw and spoke very softly. "Remember where you are now. Can you do that for me? Try and remember. All of that is in the past. It's healed up now. All healed. And Envy's not here. You and Al are here and safe. It's good that you told your secrets, because it helps me to understand. You need to realize that I'm going to protect you and keep you as safe as possible. I'll protect you, Edward, to the best of my ability."

But it was too late to pull him back this time. With a slack jaw and a slow line of drool, Ed's distant eyes saw nothing now. The Colonel felt the usual cold touch of failure in the pit of his stomach, the distress at seeing Ed fade out of reality and into standby.

But seeing it wasn't quite the same this time. He understood it more now. He kind of agreed with Ed's unconscious decision to retreat like this. His burden was so heavy. Without this escape, he might have been crushed into catatonia and stayed there permanently. He wasn't shirking in his fight to make his way back to normal life; he was taking the turnouts to pause and regroup when the road got too rough, to avoid going over the edge into the dark of no return. Leave it to Edward to be a prodigy at recovering his sanity against impossible odds. As an incremental process it made perfect sense.

"Do you want to rest?" Mustang asked. He let go and gave Ed his freedom, expecting him to go curl up in a ball on the bed. He looked so thin and cold, just in his sleep shorts and undershirt, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Ed shuffled around the taller man, out the door and into the hallway, to stand stock-still at the windows and stare blithely at the lone scruffy cedar tree and the cloudless sky.

_tbc_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

Al was waiting outside, bouncing a rubber ball against the barracks wall and catching it over and over, sometimes missing and jogging to chase after it. It was feeling better to have this body now. It had finally come to obey him most of the time without effort, as if he'd never left it. And even though he still got tired easily, and his headaches struck without warning, and his digestive system was still behaving as if it needed to be retrained - his motor skills were staring to work pretty well. They made him feel stronger, more capable, and almost optimistic.

He had to get well and strong as soon as possible. He had to get better at forcing himself to eat and sleep. It was pretty obvious that Ed was not going to be bouncing back anytime soon; it actually seemed doubtful that he would ever recover completely. So he was going to have to be the one to take care of things from now on. As soon as he was one hundred percent physically, he would take Edward, and they would go home. They had burned down their house, that was true - but the land was still theirs. They'd let Granny and Winry have the use of it, and the last Al had heard, they'd joined with a neighbor to plant a plot of specialty crops there in the growing season. For the past two years they'd been sharing in the care and the harvest. It was a decent piece of property, and a new home could fit on it and still allow room for the side business to continue.

It wasn't a big plan, but it was a start at figuring out how they might survive. A pile of wood, a clap of the hands - Al was confident that, although he was not the genius at alchemy that his brother had been, he could erect a perfectly adequate home in no time. He was looking forward to it, foreseeing just how nice it could be in his daydreams. Granny Pinako and Winry would help take care of Ed. They could all be together again. They could settle, relax, be safe and heal in peace.

His guilt was one of the biggest problems with that scenario. Because they never would have gone home and stopped searching if it was Al who had been denied at the Gate. Edward wouldn't dream of settling down and giving up until his brother had been restored. But the risk wasn't equitable, that was the argument Al went back to. He had been phasing out of the suit of armor, the blood seal weakening. It had not turned out to be a permanent refuge. Al had been well on his way to being lost forever.

But Ed was, as callous as it sounded, was only missing a couple of limbs. Not life-threatening, not worsening, not an unknown risk factor. It didn't rob him of all his senses. It didn't really stop him from doing anything. To risk their lives and their freedom, to go up against the enemy that nearly destroyed them both and tortured Ed so brutally - just to get Ed's arm and leg back…the risk was just too great.

He was sure that Ed would agree. Ed, who was so broken already…

Al winced and dropped the ball, curling his hands into fists as the object rolled away unnoticed. He hated himself for ruining Ed's chance to be restored. Every time he thought about it, the vivid memories rushed up to humiliate him and poison his optimism with the deep ache of regret. It gushed into his bowels and inflated the space behind his eyes with excruciating pressure; physically and mentally, his disgust at his own cruel behavior attacked him brutally from within.

The scene was one he was doomed to recall in finite detail. Ed had been reaching desperately, trying to make contact with the stone as well. Many terrifying, misshapen dark hands reached out from the Gate, among them the ones that dangled murky figures in the shapes of a corpse and an arm and a leg. The inhuman horde was offering up the chance to make the trade; all was in readiness to restore the Elrics and finally release them from their morbid quest. But in a flash of rage that he remembered with agonizing clarity but was at a loss to understand, Al had thrown three punishing, jaw-crushing blows before Ed could no longer attempt his desperate hold and collapsed backwards. It gave Al the opening he needed to use the stone alone.

The implosion of the stone's energy emptying into the Gate sucked his soul out of the armor and poured it back into the withered body. When Ed staggered up and reached for him again, Al's ineffective attempt at throwing a punch popped open the sallow flesh across his knuckles. The blow itself did nothing much to further harm Edward, but the momentum of it did. It caused Alphonse's nearly uncontrollable body to lose balance and collapse onto his brother, making them both fall away from the dark portal. Ed fell forever out of reach from the hands still holding out the shadowy limbs and charged with the transference energy of the stone. They continued to drop into oblivion from the Gate's realm tangled together. It had been unspeakably painful and frightening, a million times worse than being buried alive.

But it really didn't hold a candle to the horror and guilt he felt every time he thought about it now. Every time he looked at his scarred knuckles and remembered that the first real sensation he'd felt in his new body was the pain he delivered to both of them by cheating Ed of so much with that pathetic blow.

Al quickly swiped away the tears, it seemed like he was on the edge of crying every minute of the day. It only took a few minutes of letting his guard down and the corners of his eyes would begin dampen in warning. This wasn't a great kick-off to his new role as leader and protector. He was already acutely aware that he got the position by fucking up royally. But he loved Ed more than anything in the world. He'd idolized him. In fact, he still did. He would spend his life trying to make this right somehow. And Ed was his. His brother. His family. His responsibility. He would take over as soon as they were ready and they would leave here, get far away from the bad memories and the torture site. He would take Ed and leave these military people far behind, and they would all just have to cope with it. They'd have to get over this false impression they had that Ed was theirs.

He heard the crunch of those annoying heavy boots before the blue uniform flashed into sight, coming around the corner of the building. It was Mustang, and it was about damned time.

"Al. I need to talk to you."

The inflection in the older man's deep and resonate voice was unmistakable. Something was wrong. Al's throat constricted painfully with worry.

"What is it?"

"Come with me. We should go to my office. The meeting with Edward is unavoidably postponed. He's not doing well at the moment." Mustang turned on his heel and started right back in the direction he'd come from. Al trotted to catch up.

"Not doing well? What do you mean? He's still out of it?" Dark fears clamored to paint all sorts of possibilities in his mind.

"He's…" Mustang considered his next words. "Things are tough right now. He's starting to be able to talk about what he remembers . But the things he's trying to come back from…I'm going to ask something really big from you, Al. I'm going to ask you for patience. Understand that I need to set the pace here. I can't predict anything; every day, hell, every hour is different. But overall, there is progress."

Al frowned but hustled to keep up with the Colonel's long strides. His light brown hair ruffled in the breeze, and his cheeks pinked from the effort. When Mustang glanced at him, he couldn't help but give the boy a reassuring smile.

Al took it all wrong. There was absolutely nothing to smile about at the moment. He stopped in his tracks.

"I don't have to let you treat me like a little kid. And I don't have to be patient; Brother doesn't belong to you."

Mustang's smile disappeared.

"Edward is legally incompetent. You are underage to be his guardian. Consider that the end of this line of discussion."

Al gaped. "That's not true!"

"The hell it isn't. How do you think that we've managed to keep him at the base? There was no one else, Al. I didn't ask for it, actually. They put me on the papers by default, because I was his commanding officer, and his father is officially listed as missing, just as you were. He had no one else. I'm legally and officially his guardian right now."

"He's seventeen! He doesn't need a guardian."

"Legally mentally incompetent. You can be fifty and still need a guardian under that definition. It isn't just a term though, Alphonse. Face it. Ed _is_ incompetent. You turn him out on his own right now and I doubt he'd survive for a week."

Mustang turned and continued on. Al huffed in frustration and reluctantly took after him. He started to protest again, but was cut short.

"Not here. Wait until we're in my office. We owe Ed that much dignity at least, don't we? Not to be debating his relative competence for all the world to hear?"

So it was behind closed doors when they began to fight in earnest.

It became clear that fifteen-year-old Alphonse fully expected to take his brother and leave.

It became equally apparent that Roy Mustang was not about to release Edward to anything less than a very stable, safe and supportive environment. He further asserted that if Al had not gotten his 'shit together' by the time he turned eighteen, and if Edward was still ill, he would fight a change in guardianship even then.

Mustang was punctuating a very direct proclamation with a fist on his desk as Hawkeye entered the room.

"And he would be better off in an institution than left off with someone with no clue what the hell he's doing and no means to do it with! He has basic needs even beyond the usual…what is it, Lieutenant? I though I said no interruptions."

"Sir. It's Edward. And you might want to hold it down," she said, swinging the door open wider to reveal Ed standing there with the same blank look from earlier.

If the sight of Al was alarming, it sure didn't show.

Mustang instantly hated this bit of bad timing. He had not had a chance to explain why Edward acted so strangely, and where the fear was coming from. At least Ed was in that distant state of mind where he seemed to be insulated from everything; otherwise, seeing Al here unexpectedly might have been rather traumatic.

"I tried to encourage him to go back to his quarters. He won't budge," she nearly whispered.

When the door was open far enough, Ed walked forward steadily in the direction of the men. Hawkeye stepped in to keep him in sight.

Al jumped up from the side chair and stepped back, caught off-guard and not sure what was going on. Ed looked like he was going to just run into the desk, because he didn't stop his forward motion when his body came in contact it.

When he threw a knee up on it, the Colonel finally broke the silence.

"No, Ed. Not today."

With a hand and a knee on the desktop and frozen in the midst of climbing up, Ed obediently stopped. He returned to a standing position and scanned the floor, giving no indication that he had a plan B if he couldn't climb on the desk. He just seemed to be stuck.

"You should go back to your room, Ed. That where you're supposed to sleep. Not on my desk."

"Maybe I should walk you there," Al said hopefully, holding out a hand. Ed looked at the hand, and at its owner, with little interest. Just looking for the source of the noise when he spoke, it appeared.

Al dropped the hand. "Yeah, this is real progress, all right. You mean he actually wants to sleep right there? He doesn't even seem to know who he is right now."

"Alphonse," Mustang warned. "Don't say anything negative about him, especially right in front of him."

"Come here, Ed," Al took the automail arm and escorted Ed to the couch, seating him with firm hands, and then plopping down next to him. "I guess we're having our meeting anyway. They think you'll forget all about me. But I'm not going to let that happen. I think that being close like this is good, so you can get used to me again. Even when you seem a little distant."

"Stop talking at me through him, at least." Mustang began to scold. "There are reasons why this is not a good idea just yet. We still need to talk privately so that I can explain. I'm sure that Ed will be all right with Lieutenant Hawkeye taking him to his room now, so we can finish our discussion."

Ed's hand had wandered, unnoticed. It had dropped and captured a fold of Al's soft cotton t-shirt. His old habit re-emerged, and he rubbed the material innocently enough.

It unsealed his awareness with a jolt. It popped the pressure cap on reality mode and blew him out of standby so fast that none of the others in the room could react quickly enough.

Ed evaded, dove and rolled away from the couch, no easy feat as weak and sedentary as he had become. The culmination of the roll left him up on his feet, hands slapped together, and in a flash they had more on their hands than they'd bargained for.

Ed's automail had transformed itself into a large razor-edged weapon and had further sectioned off enough mass to form a smaller second blade to wield in his flesh hand. The sight of a potential enemy's teeth only bare inches away had placed him mentally in the midst of battle, as if he had been able to break free while under interrogation. He brought the arm blade up and swiped it through the air around him, making a defensive pattern.

His next slash was an attack that missed Al by less then an inch, impaling the woodwork by the stunned boy's ear. Only Al's quick evasive move to the side had spared him.

Mustang hurdled the desk and grabbed Ed from behind, hauling him back and away from Al, counting on assistance because the blades would be impossible to block completely at this point.

Riza's quick thinking in snatching the leather overcoat from the rack and throwing it over the blade arm allowed her to safely take hold and immobilize it. Ed made a significant struggle, adrenaline still pumping through his slight frame.

For such a short event, it was loud. The unmistakable sounds of an altercation alerted Havoc , who had been wandering in from the front doors to return to duty. He flew into the room and reacted to the situation immediately, moving swiftly to assist.

"Ed, no," Al cried out. "It's me. You don't want to kill me!"

They wrestled Ed the rest of the way down to the ground and pinned him flat on is stomach.

"Sir, the automail…"

"I know. I'll have to remove it."

"No! It hurts him when you do that!" Al said, still way too loud. "And then when you reconnect it - its terribly painful. And every time you risk damaging nerve endings and making him less functional! Look, I'll…I'll transmute it back. Let me! Okay? "

Mustang nodded, reluctantly. "Okay, okay, just hurry up."

But when Al clapped his hands and laid them on the segment of the blade that Hawkeye exposed for him, nothing happened.

He started to try again, and the Colonel stopped him dead.

"Don't. If you don't get this right, it could be very bad for him. If he does it, it's just a reversal. You have to correctly re-construct complicated, one-of-a kind biomechanics. You shouldn't be trying that unless your alchemy is one hundred per cent. Ed will have to reverse it, or give up the automail. Do you hear me, Edward? Stop that infernal struggling!" Mustang shook his head angrily.

"Boss, calm down. You need to listen to Colonel Mustang." With Havoc's extra hands they could hold him still with less chance of hurting him; it was a good thing, too, because he continued to fight them, pushing up only to collapse back face-down several times.

"He's just not going to be able to do this now. I'm going to have to remove the automail," Roy said regretfully. Damn, but he did not want to have to do this.

"Just give him a minute! Let him calm down, that 's his arm you're taking away from him!" Al said.

"He starts to settle down, then he hears you and it starts all over again. I'll give him a chance if you'll get out of here so we can try," Mustang growled. He would love to give that overgrown brat a good paddling; his brash behavior had been the catalyst for this fiasco.

"You can't take it off, he can't perform the alchemy to restore it without two limbs, no matter what shape it's in." Al was still begging as he was backing into the doorway. "Okay? Really. Try."

Mustang nodded and waved Al out. Havoc was on his hands and knees with his head on the floor trying to get a connection going; it was a dangerous position to be in should Ed break free.

"Boss, can you hear me? It's Havoc. Ed?"

"Edward, Alphonse is gone. I sent him out of the room." Mustang added.

Ed was still tense and resistant. Havoc dodged his head back, startled, when Mustang reached around past him and put his hand over Ed's mouth and nose.

"That's my hand, Ed," Mustang said quietly. Ed grew very still. Havoc and Hawkeye shared a blank look.

Ed's head nodded.

"You do the same, Havoc," Mustang said.

"Sir?"

"Your hand. Put it in front of his face. Close, here, like this. There, Ed. That's Havoc."

"Me, too, sir?" the Lieutenant asked.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"It's just me, Ed," she said softly before removing one of her hands from the jacket and passing it in front of his face as the two men had. She couldn't imagine how he could possibly see anything up that close, but she played along.

Ed went soft and unresisting. His panting began to slow.

"Can I trust you now, Ed?"

The blond head nodded just perceptibly.

"We'll just roll him face-up for now. Watch that. Ed, drop the blade. The one in your hand. Let go of it."

He did as he was told, so they rolled him over cautiously.

"Can you reverse the transmutation?"

Ed nodded, looking at the feminine hands, both of them with a rigid grip on the leather garment covering his re-formed limb.

"Can you do this while we're holding it?"

Ed shook his head in the negative.

"Oh boy. So, we have to let you go. Not quite yet, then. I need to be sure you're not going to do anything rash."

Ed was breathless, looking from face to face. The only thing keeping him from completely freaking out at being under the control of so many hands was Mustang's clever move to prove he could trust in their identities.

"Let go…" Ed breathed.

"When I'm sure that you're ready. Let's sit you up first."

They helped him to sit. Mustang tried to catch his eye, and finally, reluctantly, Ed did look up at him again.

"That's more like it. I need you to tell me what you're going to do now if we let you go."

Ed started to look away.

"Edward. We only have two real choices here. It's up to you. You can revert the weapons back into the automail - or I'll have to remove and confiscate them."

He reacted with a sudden movement of his upper body, but it got him nowhere.

"Ed," Mustang said warningly. "None of that. This is a decision I have to make very soon. If you can't revert the automail, it comes off. You can't put it off by hiding."

With a huff of breath, Ed shook his head. "Let me."

Mustang nodded and waved Hawkeye back, taking over the hold on the jacket.

"You came very close to hurting someone innocent with this little stunt. Before I let go, I need you to look me in the eye again, and promise that all you're going to do is change this back. Are you sure you can do that? Are you in control?"

Ed was unsteady; he was still shaky in the aftermath of what felt like an attack. "I'm not out of control."

Mustang nodded. That was a good answer.

"And the promise?"

"I just want to change it back. Don't take it."

"All right. We'll let go now. Just remember, make any false moves, and you don't get a second chance. I'll have to take the automail immediately."

Mustang and Havoc released him. They tensed when he reached for the loose blade.

Ed took the separate piece of metal and place it on the pivot point of the weapon attached to his body. It rattled slightly with the blond's involuntary tremors that would have been unnoticeable otherwise. He closed his eyes for just a moment, clapped his hand to the flat of the blade, and returned his automail to its original form.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Your alchemy is still remarkable," Mustang shook his head. "It doesn't seem to have suffered from all that you've been through." He puzzled, though, at Al's inability to perform. He thought better of bringing it up in front of Ed.

They helped Ed up off of the floor and settled him on the couch, where he flexed the automail arm experimentally and then seemed to shrink down in his seat.

"Mind if I sit next to you?" the Colonel asked.

Ed shook his head no, still looking at his automail, more to avoid looking at the people in the room than any other reason.

"I think we're okay here. Hawkeye, Havoc, good job. Carry on."

The two soldiers followed orders and left, Havoc somewhat reluctantly, after saying goodbye to Ed. Riza left the door open just a bit, so she could monitor the Colonel's safety from her desk.

"Actually, I'm sorry, Edward. That was partly my fault. I shouldn't have let Al sneak up on you like that, even if it seemed like you were okay with him there. But he just doesn't get it. He just wants to re-connect with you so badly. He tries to take over and I think it's because he's so lost without you. "

Ed shrank down a bit more, and Mustang reached around carefully and pulled him into a loose hold. He seemed to need a little shoring up, but otherwise, he was still lucid and controlled.

"Hey. It's all right. Everyone's fine. No real harm was done."

"N-not because I didn't try," Ed mumbled.

"What? "

"I tried to hurt him."

"Mm. It was his own fault. I told him not to push this. He's not as mature as his size leads you to believe. He's pretty impulsive."

"What if…" The imagined result of his attack with that large blade if Al hadn't evaded him flashed in his mind. Ed cringed. Maybe they should have taken his automail. But his instincts railed against that. He needed his arm. But more than he needed to keep Al safe? Was it Al? He never got the chance to find out.

"Ed. We do need to figure out something to keep this from happening again. No 'what ifs'. We'll just have to prevent it in the future."

"Where did he go?"

Ed was leaning into Mustang's side when he asked that, giving in a bit to the need to be supported. The Colonel let him get comfortable before he answered.

"Al? Well, I'm not sure, exactly. I just told him to step out and give you some time. Ed, don't ask me to bring him back in here right now."

"But…" Ed's voice was starting to crack.

"No. No way. Not after this. Even if you can maintain, I can't let him think that he can behave like that and still get his way. You're the older brother; you know that's not a good lesson to teach him."

Ed started chewing at his lip, re-opening the barely healing skin again. This time, Mustang held out an open hand and waited for Ed to focus on it before he brought it slowly and gently up to touch the trickle of blood starting down the pale chin. He pulled his hand away again, dripping in evidence, to let Ed absorb the fact that he was hurting himself significantly. Seeing the blood made Ed relent. He managed to stop biting down and clenched his fists instead to channel his tension.

Al's glimpse through the doorway, open just a crack, added a startled suspicion to his already worried thoughts. Wrapped together on the couch, the taller, older man had an arm all the way around his brother and the other hand seemed to be caressing his face. If Havoc hadn't been firmly ushering him past the opening, he would have gone back to demand an explanation, or at the very least stopped to watch. What the hell, what exactly did the old man want with Ed? A toy to play with, silent in his sickness so that no one would suspect? Even if Ed were to reveal that some unseemly things were being done to him, would anyone believe him?

"Stop!" he hissed. Havoc turned to him but kept right on moving. Al dug in his heels. "Wait, did you see that?"

"See what? I saw the automail was back to normal, that's all. Give it up, Alphonse, you've worn out your welcome today."

"No, go back, look…he had Ed on the couch…it looked weird." Al's imagination was on overdrive, providing every conceivable way an incapacitated person could be used, multiplying into near panic.

"Get a grip, Al. Nothing's going on. You're damned lucky you're not in there bleeding out on that couch."

"What kind of reasoning is that? He can do whatever he wants to Ed because I screwed up?"

"You are way, way out there. What do you think you saw?"

"Go back. Go look!"

"You really are starting to get on my nerves." Against his better judgment, Havoc held Al by the collar and stalked back to the doorway.

He had to admit it looked odd, but not in the way Al was thinking. Mustang had Ed drawn up against him, Havoc recognized it as the position that Ed rarely gave in to; he was letting his guard down and allowing the Colonel to get past his defenses and take a protective role. It probably wouldn't last for long, unfortunately.

He pulled Al away again, shaking his head.

"See? Did you see that?"

"He's helping him calm down. I guess Ed's needs are a little different; for you, I think a boot to the head would be more appropriate."

"But the way they were…"

"What if it were you in there holding him like that? What would you be up to, Al? Is it that you don't understand?"

"You jerk, don't turn this around on me. I would never…"

"Al, you've tried it all. Now give up. He's not being used, abused, neglected or mistreated. Every excuse you can come up with to argue that the Colonel isn't handling his illness properly is crap. So stop making waves. You could be a big help in his recovery if you'd just settle down and take this slow. Instead, you barge in and you keep making things worse. You make him…"

Havoc didn't get that next statement finished. Al turned on him, angry tears in his eyes, and tried to wrestle away physically. It degenerated into a one-side power struggle. Havoc had him under his control with an arm twisted up behind his back in one quick move.

He didn't have to maintain much pressure. Al went down on his knees, and when Havoc let go to make sure he didn't do any real damage, Al's hands went to cover his face. He was hiding his tears and failing miserably at fighting off his imminent breakdown.

"Come on, Al," Havoc said quietly, taking the shaking shoulders and lifting the boy up to his feet. "Keep moving."

Al stumbled blindly ahead, Havoc guiding him firmly but without force. He made him walk the entire way back to his quarters, and when he didn't seem any better when they went inside, he knew this wasn't just a tantrum or stubbornness.

It looked like Al's traumas had finally caught up with him as well.

"Sit, son," Havoc sighed, guiding Al to his bunk and waiting until he was safely settled, sitting on the edge hunched over miserably.

"It's never going to end," Al choked. "If we don't get out of here, it's never going to end. It won't ever get better."

"It is getting better, Al, you just have to give it time."

"No. This is the same place we were in when it all happened. We're not any better off. We're more defenseless than ever."

"You guys took off against orders. You were supposed to wait for back-up, remember? It was Edward that refused to wait. You told him it wasn't a good idea. We figured you'd convinced him. Then the next thing we knew, you were both missing. If you'll behave, if you'll listen to us, this is the best thing for both of you. But, damn it, you have to listen. Haven't you learned that lesson yet?"

"I can't help him here. I can't even get close."

"We're not the cause of that, Al. It isn't the place. It isn't us. It isn't you, either. It's Edward. He's just not well. Can't you understand? It doesn't do any good to use logic or reason. He's insane. You have to face it. He was so deranged when we first found him that he couldn't be left alone unless he was straight-jacketed or tied down, even when he was still gravely injured. He wasn't able to see any of us or leave the hospital. This is much, much better, and he's still nowhere close to being normal."

"I just want to take him home. That's where you're supposed to be when you're sick. He'll get better then because there won't be any of this stuff to keep reminding him. And it won't matter how long it takes. He can take as long as he needs. And he'll be happy. We can be happy just to be safe at home again."

"Al," Havoc sighed.

"Please," Al looked up, his light brown eyes liquid with his plight. "It's our whole life, being together. He does belong with me. I'm his family. He so messed up, and I can see that he's getting all attached to the Colonel, it's twisting him all out of any chance we have to get back to normal."

Havoc's first impulse was to bring cold logic back into the argument. It was obvious that what Al wanted was not possible given the reality of the situation. Ed had just attempted to cleave his brother's face in two. Clearly, sending them off together with a picnic lunch and a pat on the back was not an option.

But on second though, Al had to already know this. He was fighting reality as much as he was squaring off with their authority. It wasn't that he saw the facts and drew a different conclusion than they did. Instead, he was fighting with his heart. He was trying, beyond all odds and facts to the contrary, to revive his family. His love for his brother was his blinding motivation, not all of it selfless, granted…but he seemed to be uncontrollably driven to renew their connection as the most important person in one another's lives.

So it was to the heart that Havoc spoke, with a bit more empathy for the boy. His own feelings about Ed were quite painful as he witnessed the things Ed went through. With the emotional investment that Al had, it must hurt him a thousand times more.

"You love your brother. He loves you, too, I'm sure he does. We're not trying to interfere with that."

"But you are. You keep us apart."

"Al, I'm sorry. Yes, we are trying to keep things from getting out of hand. If he had connected with that blade today - it would have destroyed you both. Think of the way you said you feel about hitting him at the Gate. What if you'd killed him, or injured him permanently? Would you wish those feelings on him?"

"I don't want to hurt him. I don't. I keep doing it, though. Maybe it would be better for him if I just left, but I can't do that!"

"It's so all or nothing with you. No one thinks you should leave. Patience, Al."

"I try, but I just can't! I don't know what to do with myself. And I appreciate the place to stay, but it's so…" he shivered and shut himself up. The last thing he needed to do was look unstable. The nightmares were worsening and his general fearfulness was getting acute; when left alone in the empty building he broke out in a cold sweat and stayed that way. He could swear he heard something as big as a person scrabbling around on the roof the night. Of course, it was probably some small nocturnal creature out hunting. But now, he slept very little, and rarely at night. He would lie awake in fear. And what brief periods he did drift off…he usually woke soon after from nightmares of being buried alive in his currently body, feeling the cold weight of the shovelfuls of damp earth as they pounded down on him from above. Just visible at the rim of the pit were men in blue uniform coats without faces, efficiently throwing the staggering blows of dirt without acknowledging his screams to stop. He got a twinge of that nightmare feeling every time he first caught sight of one of the uniformed soldiers. None of these things would help his cause if he were to reveal them.

"…um, it's just so far out here from everyone else." he finished lamely. As the anger and upset lessened

"I can bunk out here with you for a night or two. I can see where it would be a little weird to be alone in there, the way this place was set up for so many men. Does that sound like good idea? I mean, I know you aren't used to having anyone around; but on the other hand, it probably gets pretty lonely." It was unintentional that Al had been isolated so completely out here, as opposed to just being distanced from Edward out of caution. What a follow-up this was to being encased in nothingness for so long. Sensory deprivation, Havoc suddenly realized. Al had been through an intolerably long period of sensory deprivation. Maybe he should look up the syndrome, see if it fit, if there were some better ways to help the boy recover.

"You don't have to. You'd be bored, I'm not much fun to be around."

"Don't worry about that. What did you and Ed used to do to pass the time at night?"

Al blinked at him for a moment, going over some of the typical nights in his head. "Uh, well, mostly we read up on alchemy, researching the Philosopher's Stone. Or talked about our plans. I helped him with his automail maintenance, and he'd do repairs on my armor. I had to help him with the cramps, the more he used the automail, the more he locked up at night when he tried to relax. Even with the armor I could work his pressure points enough to give him some relief. We weren't any good at sleeping. Ed was always worried, and he had so many nightmares. And I didn't really sleep in that armor, it was more like meditating. But, you know, when Brother was having trouble I just couldn't concentrate. That's about it, I guess. We played cards once in while. We wrote letters to Winry."

Havoc felt a little daunted. Other than the cards, the two were so entwined that everything they did was specific to the other.

"Well, I'd like stay tonight, if you don't mind. Let me check with the Colonel to make sure it's all right. I imagine he might be coming by to have a word with you about what went on today."

Al nodded, stiffly accepting the hand that rubbed his back for a moment in an effort to be supportive. More time with the Colonel. That was just great.

He couldn't help double-checking the shadows before he walked Havoc back to the door.

As soon as the man was out of sight Al ducked out and sat on the steps outside to warm up in the sun, much more comfortable with being alone in the open air than in the hollow, shadowy cold inside.

xxxxxxx

Ed had given in to Mustang's offer of comfort and security. It opened him up a little further, and connected his pain in the past with his pain in the present, shaking loose his tears. Ed couldn't really fight it, and it wounded his pride to be crying in the arms of someone he'd fought with as an equal before. Everything was muddied but the recent events and the far past, giving him little to cling to in the way of continuity.

He went to bite his lip again and was interrupted.

"Don't. Ed. Please don't"

"But," Ed spoke brokenly in his poorly controlled crying, "but it's too hard. I ruined everything. ..can't fix anything…"

"You didn't ruin anything. And things will get better. Maybe better than they were."

"I killed Mother, and I lost Al. And I'm lost now, too. I don't know what I'm doing, or what's going on."

"You didn't kill your Mother, Ed, she died of an illness. You had no blame in that. And Alphonse is not lost, he's here, he's safe, and he's been restored. We just need to help you get well so you can understand those things. I'm sorry it's so hard for you. If I could take the pain away for you, I would."

"And why are you so good to me?" Ed gave in to the warmth and strong hold, burying his face in the front of the dampened uniform. "When I'm weak and disgusting like this…"

"You're wrong. There's nothing disgusting about it. I've been on the battlefield many, many times in my career, Ed. I've been on both ends of this situation. When you need support, your comrades are there. When they need it, there's nothing more important than being there for them. There are holes you can't climb out of alone. Every veteran in my command knows it. You were a rookie and now you're learning the same way we all did. The hard way. Although, I'll admit your hard way is the hardest I've ever seen. You have to let people help you or you won't make it through."

"You've been like this?" Ed sniffed.

"Oh, yes. I've been here. I've done a lot of bad things in the name of duty, things that still get to me at times." Mustang's tone was deep and low, his speech slow and solemn. The sound of his voice was as comforting to Ed as the words; the gentle baritone seemed to soften the stark distress. "If I hadn't had help, I don't believe I'd still be alive. So I'm not one to sit in judgment of you or anyone else. I've held my men like this while they cried. Some even while they died. War is a hands-on affair, at least if you're going to maintain any of your humanity. You're a casualty of our war with the homunculi, whatever your motivations were in joining up. I know you try to think that this enlistment was just a cover for your research; but like it or not, you ended up with the full military experience on top of your personal tragedies." Mustang paused and kept still to listen. Ed's breathing was slowing down to a near-normal rate.

"Don't stop," Ed said when the room had been quiet for a few minutes.

Mustang smiled. Even with the kind of day this had been, Ed was still here with him, relating person-to-person, and seeming to get some benefit from it.

"Are you comfortable? Here," Mustang freed his clean handkerchief and pulled back enough to offer it. When Ed wouldn't let go, he went ahead and wiped the raw, tear-streaked face for him. No new tears were spilling at the moment. "You've been through a lot today. It might be a good idea if you went to rest for a while."

"Not yet."

"I'll go with you to your room, how's that?"

"But you'll leave. Can I stay here?"

Mustang looked at him doubtfully. "That's not a good idea. There are quite a few different people that come in and out of this office in the course of a day. Some of them I don't think you know. I wouldn't think it would be easy for you to sit still while strangers talk to you, or sit by you, or…"

"Okay! I won't!" Ed blurted. He hadn't thought of that. The idea of the Colonel sitting here and allowing strangers to just come in filled him with worry for the older man. "Why do you let them?"

"You're not thinking straight right now. When you go out in public, the majority of people are strangers, you don't even think about it. People aren't all threats."

Ed was much calmer now, his crying had stopped completely, and he was getting that restless feeling. He reluctantly sat back, because the way it had felt to be held was so good there for a while. Now that he'd lost the moment, he hoped to at least keep the memory of how it felt. Against the truckload of unbearable, horrible experiences, there had to be room to start adding positive ones.

When he stood, Mustang stood with him, letting him go but staying close enough to get a hold on him again without delay. He didn't think Ed was a risk as far as changing his automail again right now, but it would be foolish to take any chances.

The problem re-emerged for the Colonel to address: how to prevent Ed from repeating this in the future.

Ed was starting to fidget and edge in the direction of the door. His raw emotions were tucked away now and his attention was on feeling closed up in one place too long.

"Where is it you want to go?" Mustang asked quietly.

"Out, just out," Ed said.

"Go on. Let's walk back to your room."

Mustang followed Ed's unsteady pace out and down the hallway. He met Riza's questioning look with a non-committal one. Ed was better, doing pretty well at the moment; but he was a significant safety risk to them all, still unstable where Al was concerned, and still unable to maintain himself for very long. And almost impossibly, he seemed to have drawn them all into caring and worrying about him even more than they had before.

Mustang's breath caught when he saw Ed veer and slap his palms against the glass.

It was sprinkling outside. The prediction had been for scattered light showers mid-day, clearing by sunset.

Ed was clearly provoked at the sight.

"You already saved Alphonse. There's no need to watch for the rain anymore. Right?"

Ed's head moved slowly in his direction, but stopped just before the movement would have forced him to look away from the window. He remained glued to the glass, watching the light precipitation and struggling to remember what made him think that something important was missing in the scene outside.

_tbc_


	10. Chapter 10

_Many apologies for the long delay. Your R & R is so very encouraging, many thanks! _

_**Chapter 10 **_

Al startled hard at the sound at the door. It was dark out, although the hour was not late. He had been trying to distract himself by re-reading a book he'd read some time ago about alchemy. For some reason, he still couldn't get it to make sense. He could only read a couple of sentences, and then his mind would take off elsewhere, leaving his eyes and hands to go through the motions. It was totally disorienting. More than once, he would be unable to break out of his thoughts until as many as forty pages had been 'read' without perceiving a single word. He began to worry about his ability to read at all. He kept at it, going back to the last thing he read and understood, over and over. In three days, with numerous attempts, he had only absorbed the preface, the index, and four pages.

The book, on page thirty-six from his current shift in auto-pilot, hit the floor. His mind let go of the circles it had been chasing as well.

"Who is it?" he called out, his voice a little strained.

"It's me, Al," Havoc replied loudly, and the key began to clink into the door. Al let out a relieved breath and jumped up to greet him.

Havoc looked down at the brown eyes with a sympathetic smile and took it all in as he pulled off his rain slicker. In spite of their bickering earlier, Al looked at him like his long-lost friend. The fear in his voice when he called out had been quite evident.

He had made a stop to see Sciezska and read up a little on 'sensory deprivation' - he supposed that he shouldn't have been so surprised to find it categorized under torture. The things he learned made him feel like a monster for being so insensitive. And it explained a great deal.

A good forty hours of total sensory deprivation was all that was needed before professional military men began to crack and reveal their secrets. Men that held out longer often began to suffer psychosis. And men who were placed in deprivation cells and left there for much longer periods truly lost touch with reality. When forced to interact under normal conditions after those periods, brief intense incidents of uncontrolled behavior often erupted; episodes of violence, paranoia, even hallucinations were noted. It certainly helped to explain Al's aggressive, vicious outburst when he was freed; it had been after a year in the silent dark without even the sound of his own breathing or the blood pulsing in his veins for company. In the metal armor, he had suffered deprivation in a purer form than any mere human body could ever experience.

Those intense symptoms tended to fade quickly in the majority of subjects the researchers had followed. Also true in Al's case, particularly the blind rage and uncontrollable violence. But depression, anxiety, nightmares, lack of self-discipline and inability to concentrate were prevalent in the long-term. That dovetailed with Al's impulsiveness, the dark circles under his eyes, and his desperate attempts to re-connect with his brother with seemingly callous disregard for the trouble it caused.

Al was suffering from all of the classic after-effects. And suffering was the right word for it. Havoc held up a small roll bag and shrugged, keeping it as low-key as possible.

"Thought I'd keep you company tonight. I brought some cards and potato chips. We can eat the ante when we're done that way."

Al gave a cautious smile.

"I wasn't sure if you would want to stay after today."

"No one expects you to be one hundred percent yet. I think you're doing really well, actually. Lets not focus on the slip-ups."

Al bent and picked up the book, smoothing a page that creased from the fall.

"You startled me, and I, you know, dropped it," he said lamely.

Havoc nodded, casually picking up a stray leaf that had come in on his shoe and taking a trip to the waste receptacle near the door to the latrine. He got a good look in the container when he opened it, confirming another one of his suspicions.

The majority of Al's dinner was in there, looking untouched. He made a mental note to ask Fuery if he had actually witnessed Al eating those big morning meals he was supposedly downing.

Well, that explained why Al had stopped gaining back his weight. Al had been left out here on his own on the assumption that he mostly stable and just needed time and rest to recover.

In the light of what Havoc was putting together, this treatment bordered on neglect. Al was a minor, a severely abused minor at that. Unwittingly, they had just sort of hung him out here to dry.

He wandered back and made sure to keep it casual, giving his attention to the boy in small, purposely indirect doses. Al was so nervous it was almost tangible. It wasn't apparent whether he was nervous about having company or just disturbed in general. He excused himself to use the bathroom a second time, and this time Havoc was indiscreet. He went to the doorway and listened, and heard what he suspected, Al was having stomach troubles.

"Hey, Al," Havoc said, finished now settling his things in and making up the second bunk. "Not feeling well?"

" It's just how it is, I'm not sick or anything," Al said nervously, standing by the foot of his own bunk. "You won't catch something from me."

"I wasn't worried about that." It sounded like Al needed assurance that he wouldn't change his mind and leave. "If you're tired, we can sack out early. I've had some long nights lately."

Al was torn, and he couldn't decide what to say. He would love to sleep, especially with someone else there who was an expert at keeping watch. He doubted it would happen, though, and the earlier they turned in, the longer he'd have to lie awake pretending to be asleep.

"Cards, then?" Havoc stopped. The look on Al's face froze him in his tracks.

There were noises coming from the roof. Something was up there, scuttling on the curved metal, and Al was clearly alarmed.

"They're magpies, that's all," Havoc said reassuringly. "They sound like buffalo on that metal."

"Are you sure?"

"This used to be where we assembled the night before being deployed. The birds were always up there; then they attracted bigger predators, like raccoons and cats. Seems like there was always a tussle going on up there. Sorry, I should have warned you."

Al nodded, giving one last look up, still a little pensive.

"I feel like I'm making you uncomfortable. Kick back for a little bit, Alphonse. I'm going to." Havoc settled on the bunk, hands behind his head, and waited.

After a moment's hesitation, Al did the same. When the room remained quiet, he realized that the noise outside had stopped. Havoc was humming softly, low in his throat. The minute Al got relaxed enough to drop his guard, he fell into exhausted sleep, as if someone had flipped off his power switch.

Havoc rolled on his side and watched Al's chest rise and fall, and the expression of worry smooth away from his face. He looked even younger with his pale, soft complexion. It seemed that all of his scars were on the inside. It made it harder to have sympathy for him; you could hardly help but feel bad for Ed the minute you saw him. But with Al there was the additional factor that his face was unfamiliar. He looked a little like Ed, but not that much. He looked nothing like the suit of armor, of course. He really was quite estranged and alone here.

Outside, a large black bird sat motionless and listened at the roof vent, scarcely believing his ears. Did the man say Alphonse? Was this Alphonse Elric he was talking to? It did sound like him. If it was, why on earth wasn't he staying in the main building with Edward?

That was a fascinating mystery indeed. Alphonse was alive? Why was he hidden in here with that strange boy and Mustang's underling Havoc?

He needed to stay here close until he got the whole story. Regrettably, from the silence it sounded like the people within were turning in for the night already. Alphonse didn't sleep, but wouldn't be up talking to himself while everyone else was asleep; so he probably wouldn't risk missing anything if he moved on to see what Ed was up to.

Eyes glowing red, he lofted into the air and flew to the cedar tree. He was not disappointed. The lights within were all on, and Edward was easily visible in the hallway, standing with his hands cupped around his eyes and pressed against the window in order to see out without the mirror effect of the inside lights.

Ed saw him, too, of course. He had shifted into an owl on the way, making him a more appropriate sight for the time of day.

Yet Ed seemed to sense he was something more anyway. That was amusing. It appeared that Ed suddenly realized the position he had put himself in, vulnerable and exposed, easily seen at the window, but terribly handicapped in the ability to see out. He went windmilling backwards, started to dart into his room, then changed direction and fled down the hallway. He disappeared from the windows in the opposite direction from the way Mustang usually went. Envy found that curious. Ed seemed to be attached to the old perv from what he saw. He rather thought that if Ed were frightened, he'd look to the Colonel for help.

Well. That would be the logical thing for him to do, of course. Edward still had that disturbed look in his eyes; he was nowhere near sane enough for more interrogation yet. And now it didn't look like he even had the wits to run to someone for help. That was disappointing indeed.

Envy waited, ruffling his feathers. Ed must not have been yelling or making a commotion, because no one came looking after he took off.

It was like waiting for a punch line. Eventually, someone would come, and find Ed missing. Hopefully before daylight, so it would be easy to watch them bumble around. He briefly considered shifting into a generic soldier, or Havoc, and doing the searching himself just to see what was going on. While it was tempting, it was too much of a risk for nothing. It wouldn't do any good to take Ed yet, obviously.

When it got closer to dawn, he would return to monitor the barracks. Alphonse was the better subject. He sounded lucid. And he had been the last one with the stone.

It had been fun figuring out how to torture a soul trapped in a metal shell. He was terribly proud that he had succeeded in making the disembodied boy feel excruciating pain and mortal fear. Damn that Fullmetal for interrupting and saving him. Watching that torture had put Edward into orbit, and fueled his Herculean effort to battle them off long enough to somehow make his younger brother disappear off the face of the earth.

But now Al didn't have his little defender to help him anymore. And Envy knew just how to make that metal moron scream for mercy. While it would be interesting to know the situation here, he really just needed to get his claws on Alphonse.

Then he could wait to take Edward; if he didn't need to be interrogated, they just needed to keep up on his whereabouts so he could be easily retrieved when the time came to use his unique skills later.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Mustang had left Ed there, stuck at the window. He didn't seem upset, just locked in place, and he just got agitated at any attempt to pull him away. He was safe here where it was familiar, and Al was definitely not going to be showing up unannounced, not with Havoc as chaperone out at the barracks. So the Colonel saw no real harm in leaving him to his old hobby; the man had tons of work to do, after all.

He was looking for something. Ed didn't know what that something was, but he knew he had to be vigilant in watching for it. Sometimes, he saw men taking care of the grounds, or people passing from building to building. He watched them closely, but knew immediately that they were not it. Maybe it was the sky, the weather. He had a clear, stomach-clenching memory of the agony of waiting for the right weather conditions to retrieve Alphonse. This felt so similar. The rain had called up that memory, and provoked him further. He just couldn't look away yet. Minutes ran together, became an hour, then another. Time crawled by and the day passed; it was getting dark outside early, from the cloud cover. He had to shield his eyes and get right up to the glass to see out; otherwise, all he saw was his own reflection. The outside lighting, yellow and faint, came on and it was just enough that he could still see the area if he stayed like this.

The owl came on heavy, lazy wings, and just as it began to alight on the tree, he saw it. The flash of red in its eyes. His intuition caught something else as well, a subtle change in the atmosphere. Alarms went off in his head, and for a brief moment, he was thankful to be safely inside.

Then it slowly dawned on him that he was completely exposed in the brightly lit window, and that he was having difficulty seeing out into the deepening dark. The crimson glow of the eyes in the tree seemed to intensify and look straight through him. Ed gasped and backed away. Now lights overhead intruded in the sudden strain to look out. He couldn't see the bird at all; only his own ravaged, frightened face and the moving pair of red glowing dots that were barely visible through it, too obscured by his reflection to tell if they were coming closer or not. He realized that this image was exactly what the view would be from the outside. He jolted with the shock that he was alone with no one to turn to and it magnified the danger of being watched with evil, amused intent. His mind finally provided an identity to go with that piercing stare. _Envy!_

The hall was too bright, it suddenly seemed to hurt his panicked eyes. Any second, the glass would shatter, and the owl would transform and drag him away. He spun to find a hiding place, a defensible space out of the open.

He started for his room and balked. Too small, only one way in and out, the interior visible from the windows at an angle. The quick reverse in direction made him stumble, and when the momentum carried him past the door along the hall to the right he just kept going, his socks slipping on the polished flooring. They didn't let him wear shoes when they left him unattended indoors now, to remind him he wasn't allowed to go outside on his own.

He made it away from the passageway windows, his blood thundering in his ears. This was the direction of the library and he dashed down this familiar path. The doors, normally wide open, were shut but not locked. He scrambled in, flung the door back shut and ducked behind the librarian's desk in the dark, the layout ingrained in his memory so that the lack of light was not an issue.

His own hard breathing sounded loud, loud enough to alert the whole building as to his whereabouts. He struggled to bring his panting into control. Even nerve in his body was vibrating with the need to put up a defense. With his alchemy he could turn the walls to steel, seal up the doors, prevent anyone from entering.

Mustang's voice came to him immediately when he raised his hands, with that tone so low and sincere; it was the only thing stopping him from launching an all-out defense. He had made Ed promise not to do any transmutations. He had promised to keep him safe.

Every nerve screamed at him to throw up a barrier and arm himself quickly. It was agonizingly difficult to suppress the frustrated sounds rumbling up from his chest. He darted around on hands and knees and peered back at the doors. Still closed. His breathing had quieted enough that he felt he could hear if someone was coming. He still hadn't heard any glass breaking. In fact, other than his own sounds, he didn't hear a thing.

The pitch black in the library began to trick him. His active imagination saw a shape move in the corner of his eye. He began to hear something rhythmic. It sounded like fast breathing, close and loud; he failed to recognize it as the crunch of blood pulsing in the veins in his head.

He rolled back and his hands flew out into empty space. Whatever it was, it wasn't as close as it sounded.

The black of the room began to call up the images of the black hands of the gate. His imagination, pumped with trapped fear and adrenaline, swelled to fill the room with those reaching arms. A small whimper of fear slipped out and he truly began to panic then. He'd made a sound. He had given himself away. It was just a matter of time before his tormentor would have him.

He whipped his head around at the shuddering sound of the central heating coming on and knocked his face painfully into the corner of the desk. The intensity of his conviction that Envy would burst through the doors any second was beginning to liquefy his logic. He backed into the kneehole of the desk and yanked the chair as far in as he could.

"Don't take me," he whispered to himself. "If you do it, do it here, don't take me."

The owl, Envy's true form, Al's armor, his flesh form…what would burst in? Would it be alone?

"Don't, please, please…" Ed had his hand clamped over his mouth but was helpless to stop the words. He had to be quiet, he was committing suicide by revealing his location. Yet his words only grew louder, more emotional, harder to suppress at all. "Please! Don't hurt me again! Don't make me go with you. Leave me alone!"

The automail was turning his effort to stifle his cries into a bruising conflict with his own self. As his hands tried to press his mouth shut, he began to fight away. It escalated to a bizarre battle, a physical confrontation between the his logical, desperate attempt to force himself to be quiet and still to hide, and his reaction to being restrained, as if it were another person entirely trying to capture him.

He bit down hard on his own arm , and rolled out from under the desk to the middle of the floor struggling. He wedged a foot against the metal arm to try and get it away.

Yet another part of his mind watched his fierce self-battle, frozen in terror. If the homunculus did burst in here during this absurdity, they were doomed.

His rolling body crashed into a cart. He was growing louder in his distress, and the part of him fighting to try and enforce silence escalated its attack with each increase in volume. The library was too far away for anyone to hear his muffled cries with the doors closed; it was at the far end of the building, away from the Colonel working through the last of the piles of paperwork under Hawkeye's watchful eye. The man on watch was just coming on, replacing the last shift. He stopped by to report in to the Colonel before setting off on his rounds.

He found Edward's room empty and no sign of him. He checked the rest room, under the bed, in the storage closet. Nothing. He knew enough to report it immediately.

"Colonel. Is Edward in the infirmary tonight?" Armstrong asked formally.

The dark eyes shot up from the paperwork. "No. He should be in his room or nearby. I left him in the hallway, at the window. He's been there all day. Have you looked around?"

"I have, sir. He's not th…" he didn't get to finish the sentence before Mustang was on his feet and rounding the desk, heading out the door.

"Come on!"

The first thing Mustang did was check the hall door to the outside. It was secure. With the rain, and Ed's behavior…what an idiot, he berated himself. Ed could have run off, of course he could , if he had some sort of flashback or unresolved issued from his brother's burial.

"Check the briefing room and the medic's station; I'll take the entry and the mess hall area. Oh, and try the library and the bathrooms down at the far end; if you come up empty start from there and hit every office that isn't locked. Report to Lieutenant Hawkeye with your progress." With that, the Colonel turned away swiftly to update Hawkeye on the situation on his way to check the front doors.

Armstrong flicked on the lights in the briefing room and took a quick walk down the ends of the rows of chairs, to be sure that Ed wasn't down in between the rows. He pulled open the tall cabinet door, and checked behind the huge whiteboard. One room down, no luck.

xxx

Ed rolled and cried out again; this time, him voice was cut short as the automail fingers rammed into his mouth and began pressing hard , brushing the back of his throat brutally. He gagged , but the hand persisted. He kicked and rolled, twisting away, but his own hands were too strong.

He growing more and more convinced that he was going to die any minute now, die or face something much, much worse, as soon as the doors opened. He was losing miserably in his struggle to gain control, and he was a perfect target now.

A slice of light shot into the darkness with the opening of the door. At the realization that it had opened, Edward lost it completely. The fear of seeing Envy was so great that his sense of sight vanished at the shock of seeing the lights from the hallway outlining something in the doorway. He screamed even as the automail hand jammed into his throat and he rolled into the desk with a heavy impact, legs churning to roll his body with nowhere to go.

"Merciful heavens! Edward!" Armstrong never paused, as bizarre as the scene was when he snapped the lights on. He was on the young man in an instant, forcing the automail to stop its damaging invasion. Once the arm was pulled away, Ed's cries continued unabated. Mustang caught the sound from the other end of the building and arrived in time to see just how bad things were.

Ed was blind with terror, and the two men had little effect in calming him down.

"Hold him, Major. Carefully." The obscenely strong Alchemist had no problem securing Ed, in spite of the fact that the smaller man was working every muscle to its fullest strength to escape. "Don't let him get his hands free no matter what."

Armstrong nodded sadly. Ed's fruitless attempts to get away looked something like a fish out of water in its death throes. He seemed to have no concept of how much he could be hurting himself; would be hurting himself, if anyone less capable had him in their custody.

Mustang reappeared, kneeling next to Ed, pulling up his sleeve.

"Keep that arm still," he said, loud over the choking, keening cry Ed had fallen into. He administered a shot with a strong dose of tranquilizer into the pale flesh.

The volume reduced until Ed finally fell silent. His resistance disappeared, and he became a rag doll in the giant officer's hands.

"Careful with him, Major." Mustang said quietly.

Ed was tucking his head down and balling up, unsteady and rapidly losing consciousness from the drug.

"Can he…?" Armstrong began to ask.

"Shh," the Colonel hushed. "Wait. Let him drift off now."

Once Ed was completely unconscious, he had the Major carry him to his room.

"What a night for you to have to fill in on watch," Mustang sighed. "No idea what was going on, I suppose."

"He was on the floor pummeling himself rather handily when I found him. My appearance didn't dissuade him in the slightest."

"I see. Let Hawkeye know he's back here, hm? Then finish up your rounds. Thank you, Major."

Mustang sat at the end of the bed, shaking his head. Things had seemed better, but this…Ed looked like he'd been in a barroom brawl. He'd been completely out of touch with reality again.

Maybe it was vanity and foolishness to think that Ed was any better off in his care than he would be with Alphonse. Professional help was starting to look like a necessity. He had avoided it up until now, because there didn't seem to be any benefit that balanced the risk that they would commit Ed to an asylum as a danger to himself and others.

But Ed clearly was just that; a dangerously deranged man given to unpredictable acts that threatened himself and those around him. For every step forward, there seemed to be two steps back.

xxx

Envy hooted in amusement. Once the hulking Major with the handlebar mustache went in the right direction, it had been a very funny pregnant pause before the activity started. Mustang went tearing down the corridor, then back the other way to get something and ran back; …then here they come with Fullmetal, the unconscious man resembling a sack of potatoes more than anything…what a crack-up!

From the look of it, the show was over for tonight. Time to return to the barracks and see what he could find out there. With a powerful flap of his thick, grey wings he lofted into the air.

_tbc_


	11. Chapter 11

_Finally another chapter! I guess an eventual update is better than none at all...or, at least, I hope so!_

**Chapter 11**

Ed was silent and subdued when he awoke the next morning. Kane Fuery was there to keep watch over him. Ed wasn't bothered by him, but he didn't relate to him very well for some reason. He wanted Havoc or Mustang to be there, or the Lieutenant. Without them, he didn't feel like talking. He shook his head and turned away when Kane offered him something to eat.

He had no recollection of the night before, but he could tell from the aches and pains that he had been involved in something physically demanding. Whatever he'd been doing that used so many stagnant muscles he simply couldn't recall. He didn't care much about that anyway, nor feel curious. His mood was deeply sad and depressed, the world he awoke to felt heavy and dismal. Other than a few stray thoughts about Al, he was just absorbed in feeling hopeless and tired. Talking was more effort than he could manage to come up with. It was a good thing he had no intention of doing so.

Fuery prodded him gently, although it didn't take much to read Ed's mood. This could be a new stage of recovery surfacing, unpleasant but not unexpected by his caretakers. Fear, depression, anger, sorrow, humiliation…with the return of sanity, even just some of it, the natural reactions to extreme abuse would no doubt arise and have to be dealt with. How severe, which reactions would dominate, how well he might adjust - only time would tell.

Ed's perpetual resident guilt had been a disproportionate part of his life and motivation when he had taken off against orders and gotten himself into this mess. That guilt was still there, still as dominant, possessive and ugly as it had been before. And when he reacquainted himself with it on a more rational level, it definitely had the upper hand. Just the slightest foray into sanity touched it off into attack. It had followed him back into his half-imagined world last night, and now he was adrift in between. He thought he was in a bleak mood but otherwise thinking clearly at the moment and knew what was happening. He was in fact still under the influence of some of his strongest delusions.

He tried not to think in this mood, it only made things worse. He had murdered his mother and little brother in evil, hideous ways; and he had allowed himself to become a willing slave to please an inhuman monster than now would never leave him or anyone he turned to alone. He had damned himself and doomed everyone he cared about now or could possibly care about in the future. His shortcomings had soured away all that was good in the world. That was how he had come to be here. For his transgressions, he was locked up and guarded under military arrest in a small room with no weapons, shoes or sharp objects.

"Edward, you really should eat something. At least drink some water. You'll get ill." Fuery pushed his glasses up on his nose and sighed. Ed's back was to him. He was starting to think that Ed was off in one of those semi-catatonic states he would to get himself into, the ones that made the Colonel visibly upset. He sincerely hoped not.

Ed ignored him, looking at the wall without really seeing it. The man sounded friendly and kind, and Ed didn't want to drag him into his mess any more than he already had. Escape wasn't an option anyway. He really had nowhere to go.

"Ed, Mustang's gonna have my head on a platter if I don't get you to eat something. Come on, help me out, will you?"

"Go…away," Ed groaned. His throat hurt in such an odd way, not like the pain of sickness or too much yelling.

Fuery was at a loss. Ed wasn't doing his zombie thing or he wouldn't respond so naturally. But Ed didn't tell people to go away like this; he usually wanted company when he was awake and lucid.

"Don't you feel well?" Fuery hovered, putting a tentative hand on the bed and patting it to alert Ed that he was so close. "I want to check and see if you feel warm."

Ed scrunched down and frowned as the hand touched on his forehead.

"You feel normal enough."

"Go away." Ed's mind repeated those two words in dull cadence to block out any other sounds the man might feel compelled to make.

xxxxxxxxxx

Al was going to have to get by on his own for the day and night. It was a jarring bit of information, after the relief of having someone there last night that he could halfway trust. There would be no meeting or interactions with Edward. It was going to be another one of those days, warehoused and waiting.

He followed the older man outside to keep from breaking their connection until the last possible minute. As was his habit even in daylight, he stepped away from the building quickly when he exited, to get far enough back to check out the roof. There was a fair share of guano up there, but he wasn't entirely convinced. Sometimes he thought it could be birds. But the times when he thought it was something else…the strength of what he felt deep inside still insisted that it was something more.

Havoc wanted him to go back in before he walked away; Al was all right with that, it was still darkish outside in the predawn, and he was cold in just his t-shirt and shorts.

He sat on the edge of his unmade cot, and looked plaintively at Havoc's tightly-made vacant bed for a bit. He let his gaze drift to the books on the small table between the head of the beds. He had finally set aside the book on alchemy for good. No matter how hard he tried, it just wasn't going to work. Even taking the book outside in the sun yesterday hadn't helped. He had decided to give up on it. He briefly considered taking it back to Schieska this morning, but wasn't sure exactly how to get back to the library, and he was now convinced that accidentally running into Ed was not good for his brother's well-being. That was a totally depressing thought; that he was a harmful and unwelcome sight and likely to remain that way for some time to come.

The day before he had discovered an old, yellowed graphic novel someone had left in the barracks. Picking it up now, he found that it was far easier to follow than the scientific manual; maybe because of the pictures. He decided to kill some time thumbing through it, and ended up devouring the whole thing in an hour.

It was book two of a series about a teenager who murdered his parents in a moment of insanity. It didn't seem to be vital to have read the first volume, the preface spelled it out well enough. The main character was a good student and had never been in trouble. So when they threw him into prison with the other felons guilty of the worst crimes, he was subjected to all of the classic things reported to happen to young men in jail. By the end of this second volume, he had been gang-raped, beaten, abused by the guards and disowned by his sole surviving relative during their supervised visit. Maybe things would get better in future volumes, but this, the only book of the series he found, was rather bleak. It ended with the main character crying out into the rain from the third-story window, watching his beloved sibling far below walking away after telling him he was hated and deserved everything he was getting. Only the top of the umbrella was visible below in the drawing, and hands were reaching to pull him away from the window…one presumed to punish him for the transgression of dodging the guards to open the window and yell out in one last desperate attempt to save some hope of reuniting one day.

Al read and re-read the last section and stared at the last drawing for some time. This book, unlike the alchemy text, leapt off the page and seemed to crawl into his head. He was that boy, in many ways. Ed was walking away under the military's protective umbrella, and he was regarded as evil for trying too hard to reach for him.

It had coarse, gritty artwork - the people in it were all ugly, even the main character. He had to wonder why someone wanted to create this. Maybe it was a cathartic, a way for the author to work out his darkest feelings.

Al had been something of an artist when he was little. It hadn't occurred to him that he had been restricted from that activity up until now, lacking the right tactile feedback for it while in the armor. He rose and went to the old supply cabinets to search for a pad and something to draw with.

He found a clipboard, a few half-used lined yellow pads and some pencils and perched back on his bed to begin sketching. For the first time since he'd returned here, he managed to think up something to distract himself the way normal people do.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"You're worried about him," Riza said knowingly.

"I'm concerned. Yes. Of course I am," Mustang said, holding up a hand to catch the attention of the waitress.

"We could start back now." Havoc was still hovering, unwilling to commit to sitting down.

"Havoc, twenty or thirty minutes for a bite to eat is not going to make that big of a difference. We've been gone all day. It's not like we're going to spare them any anxiety. To whatever degree it disturbed them that we had to go into the field, they've no doubt dealt with it. It's a good five hour drive, and I for one don't see the point in doing it in a panic. Especially a hungry, thirsty panic. There's no need." Mustang gave them both his half-lidded look of superiority. "Now, unless you 've got to go hit the latrine, sit. That's an order."

Havoc grunted and flopped into the chair.

"And who is this imaginary woman you've been seeing?" Hawkeye nudged Havoc's shoulder with a small, devilish grin. "Is she the kind you inflate, or a cardboard cut-out?"

"Oh, so low," Havoc chided. "We've just met over coffee, it's nothing yet but…you should see her. She's amazing." He reined himself in quickly. No use advertising too much to the Colonel.

"My, my. First I've heard of this one. I'll have to meet her," Mustang purred.

Havoc glared at the Lieutenant before replying. "Not this time, sir. Haven't you stolen enough of my dates?"

"Aww, I never. Women just naturally gravitate towards me, that's all. If she comes my way, I'll give her back. Eventually."

"Right." Havoc sipped his ice water and shrugged in resignation. "Oh, well. She's probably more in your league anyway."

"Really." Mustang looked put off. "Havoc, I have to say that I don't understand why you haven't settled down already. You make no bones about wanting a real, committed relationship. Women are wild for that stuff…no, I'd even go so far as to say that some of them are desperate for it. You're a nice guy, decent looking, stable and employed…what the hell is your problem?"

"Bad luck, I guess. You ought to know that. I mean, I find them, jump though hoops for weeks to get them to finally go out with me; and you walk up and talk to them once and the next thing I know, you're dating them instead."

"Well, we may connect, but it's just for a time or two. You know me. The third date is poison, something to avoid…go there and you'll never get rid of them."

"Permission to give the opinion of one of 'them', sir?" Hawkeye asked patiently.

"Be my guest, Lieutenant," Mustang schmoozed.

"Havoc says he wants a permanent relationship and all that…but he's really scared to death of getting involved. Ah - be quiet, Havoc, let me finish. He's out with a women, you're there because he's somehow 'accidentally' let slip that he will be there with someone, and he practically tosses them to you. Well, it's no wonder you get lucky so often. They're feeling rejected, and you give them a nice consolation that includes a restaurant meal and flowers. And then you -" she wagged a finger at her superior, "you take them straight to bed, give them a second, platonic date as a thank you and a clear message that you had enough the first time, and they stagger off never to speak to either one of you again. Now. What is it about this picture that makes you wonder why this man is not married yet?"

Both men looked at her with the looks they probably wore when they'd been scolded at toddlers.

"Er…" Havoc wanted to retort, but he didn't have one.

"I get plenty of action that Havoc does not throw my way. I don't think I like that you're implying that they are only attainable because I am there to soothe their disappointment over losing their first choice." Mustang said.

"Merely making an observation. Sir. And yes, I know that your revolving door sees for more action that the handful of sure things that Mr. Lonely here shoves at you."

"Hey!" Havoc objected. "Low blow! It may seem that way to you, but face it. He's got a Colonel's salary, he's handsome, he's a frickin' Alchemist which makes him seem like some movie star to them…I already know I can't compete with that."

"I guess it depends on what you're competing for. A roll in the hay? Yes, I'd say he has the edge. A real, long-term relationship? You're the clear winner…right up to the point where you show them that you don't care enough to object if they take off with someone else. Then you just look like an insincere flake." She pushed a finger into the Colonel's jacketed shoulder. "This man isn't that handsome. You're just as attractive in your own way if you'd just walk your talk."

"Hey!" It was Mustang's turn to feel chastised. "I'm damned handsome. I hear it constantly. Women love this face. And if you weren't my subordinate, I'd tell you what they think of this body and what it can do. Because…"

Hawkeye grinned. "Guys are so easy to provoke."

"BECAUSE," Mustang growled, "I have charm and skills that you, sadly, will never enjoy!"

She began to shake slightly, then the laugh got away from her. "S-sorry. I'm crying on the inside. I am. Really. I just, you know, realized what I was missing and got over it some time ago. And it wasn't easy. I'll have a hot turkey sandwich and skim milk."

It took a second for the last line to sink in, and the two men broke off from their intense concentration to look up and face the waitress without a clue as to what to say.

"Er…hot pastrami and iced tea," Mustang decided randomly.

"Same here," Havoc said. He turned back. "Can we just change the subject?"

Victorious, Riza suppressed her amusement and decided he was right. "Good idea. I was trying to help you see it from another point of view, that's all."

"Hmph." Mustang was not so easily placated. Not that handsome, what a thing to say.

"Wonder how they're doing back at the base. Thank you," Havoc took his tea from the offered tray and set it down to pulverized the lemon slice for its tasty juices.

"I'm sure they handled it for one day. How was Alphonse when you left?"

"You know, he should be evaluated by a professional. I have it in my report, I'm just not finished with it yet. He's really been affected by the sensory deprivation. I left those journals with the pages marked, did you get a chance to read any of them?" Havoc asked.

"I skimmed them. Some of it I already knew. I suppose that I just really didn't think of Al's experience in that way, but you're right. He should be screened for the schizophrenic behavior, at minimum." Mustang looked at his folded hands. "I've been pretty rough on him considering. I doubt that it helps to be punished for your illness. Can you imagine if we'd been that way to Edward?"

Riza hesitated. At first, Mustang had been less than open-armed when Ed came to him. He had said some fairly harsh things and pushed him away. "We…weren't always as supportive of Ed as we are now. At least, Havoc, you've come up with this before we made this mistake with Alphonse for long. I don't think he trusts us right now at all. We'll have to resolve that to get anywhere with him."

"I'll be the first to admit, hand-holding of this nature is not my specialty. Helping Ed has sort of evolved to this point. I'm a little overwhelmed as it is, I don't think I can wet-nurse Alphonse, too. Especially if he has deep-seated mental problems. Well, I mean, hell, how could he not? Look at it, at the sequence of events. Their mother, then their bodies, then their home…Al must have had some strange, science-fictionish existence in that armor. They've seen death, battled, been kidnapped, tortured…they're not even adults. Al's fifteen, and he has an insane brother, the guilt of denying him his limbs, no home, no other family. Makes you wonder how he can still be in there trying."

"He's really afraid to be in the barracks out there. You should have seen him, Colonel. He's not eating much and he's feeling ill most of the time."

"I didn't know that. Fuery said he was eating really well. But I was beginning to wonder why he wasn't looking better. I was attributing it to stress." Hawkeye sighed.

"Fuery doesn't watch him eat, and from what I saw he just throws it out when no one's looking. I watched him try to eat, it's like he has to force himself to do it. When we get back, with your permission, Sir, I'd like to take him over for a check up. He was supposed to go back last week but he somehow managed to get everyone to forget about it."

"Good idea. Get him over there tomorrow. If you walk him there, don't take him through the courtyard, though; Ed's been stuck at the windows again lately, and the way things have been going he'd probably freak out." Mustang frowned. "Edward is not doing well, either. He had a bit of a breakdown again last night."

They all shared a moment of quiet, thinking on Ed's condition.

Havoc broke the silence. "He's probably wondering why I haven't been by in a few days."

"He should know where we are today. I told Fuery it would be a good idea to tell him, so he wouldn't feel abandoned when none of us come by. This is another thing. We have some two and four-day excursions coming up. He needs to be able to tolerate this, or he's going to end up in a straight jacket in the sanitarium. The brass above me won't mess with him; if it comes to light that he's capable of uncontrolled alchemy they'll lock him up tight and throw away the key." Mustang revealed his deep trust in making this statement to his two subordinates. To speak this way would get him in a lot of trouble if his superiors got wind of it.

"We can't let that happen," Havoc said gravely. Hawkeye nodded in agreement, and they all leaned back to give the waitress room to set down their plates.

Even Mustang felt a twinge of guilt as he picked up his dripping, overloaded sandwich. Ed had great difficulty eating, he was so thin. Now Alphonse, too?

The waitress came back and came close to the Colonel. "Extra napkins, sir," she smiled, all eyelashes and posing like a model. He finally noticed her and smiled up with his lady-killer look of interest.

"Why, thank you."

"You are so very welcome."

"Can I get a refill?" Havoc broke in. "Please?"

"Sure," purred the waitress, not looking away from the dark-eyed soldier. She left to fetch the pitcher, and Mustang shrugged. "I think some people just have it, and some don't. As you can clearly see, I have it." His teasing tone disappeared suddenly. "Now that that's settled…once we finish eating, we'll go straight back and see how everyone held up."

They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence, anxious to get back to the base without further delay.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Envy watched Havoc leave in the very early morning. The boy said goodbye, went back in and locked the door immediately, then checked the lock again. There hadn't been much talking, just Havoc saying he had to go and that he wouldn't be back until very late the next night. The reply was so quiet that Envy only made out a few words, and the voice was so low there was little that was distinctive about it. He gathered from those few words and the pathetic body language that the kid wanted Havoc to return here no matter how late the hour. He returned to perch by the vent to listen. Surely Alphonse and the kid would be having some sort of conversation now that their chaperone was gone. Time ticked by, and there was little noise at all below. If it weren't for the occasional cough and the trip to the toilet, he would have thought that the lazy little brat had gone back to sleep.

The sun was rising now over the hills on the horizon. Envy hit the end of his patience and shifted into the perfect beast of infiltration - a rat. He scuttled up to the ventilation holes and found a screen that had already been gnawed through by lesser vermin. He slipped inside to investigate the dim interior of the cavernous structure, trotting down one of the beams until the bunks came into view.

The boy was sitting on one of the two beds, looking a bit distressed. That, from what Envy knew of the younger Elric, should have had Alphonse right by his side, the sympathetic twit. But there wasn't a sign of the suit of armor nearby. The place was empty for the most part. He assumed that Havoc had occupied the tidy second bunk, and there were no others. It seemed like an odd arrangement.

After a few heavy sighs, the boy refocused on his book and began reading again.

Envy watched for a while, waiting to see if Alphonse would appear. It seemed like this could take forever, and tolerating boredom was not his great strength. His sharp eyes flickered and he decided to make a more thorough search on his own.

Envy checked the shower stalls, the toilets, the section with the sinks. He took to the rafters again to get an overview, then went back to the ground floor to check out all the places he couldn't see from above. After combing every possible area, he had to come to the conclusion that Alphonse wasn't here. There was no way he could have snuck past his watch, unless he had taken off while Fullmetal was putting on his little show.

He scurried up to the bunk next to the boy, keeping just out of sight, and paused. The kid was writing or drawing something now. His face didn't have that peaceful look of someone engaged in their art; his look seemed to be one of pain of some sort. Well, he'd just have to help that along. If Alphonse was anywhere in earshot, a good scream should have him coming at a run. And even if he wasn't here close, if the kid needed help, with Havoc out on orders, he might seek out the missing metal boy in an emergency. He'd just have to provide the right incentive to get the kid to lead him there.

Long, glittering incisors bared, he made the leap to the top of the cot and sank a vicious bite into the nearest exposed big toe, bearing down until he hit bone. He even paused to increase the effect before leaping away again, adding the clear image of his glowing beady red eyes and long, scaly tail for good measure.

The boy did indeed cry out, papers went flying and he was up on his feet on top of the bed in a flash, bleeding and yelling for the rat to get away.

Envy twitched his excellent ears, hidden now under a shelving unit. It came as a surprise, but this scrawny human was Alphonse Elric in the flesh; because this was a voice that he would know anywhere, having indulged in the sweet melody of his crying, screaming and begging before. That likely meant that the stone was used up, and that the boy was only of interest as an alchemist now. It angered him at the sudden realization that he had wasted so much effort without getting the stone after all.

It still didn't answer the question as to why Alphonse was exiled out here in what appeared to be a storage area, away from his brother. The two were like peas in a pod, always.

Al's blood was creating a large red stain on the sheet, and he had grabbed up his book for a weapon, still standing on the bed. He crouched and peered all around. The big, black, greasy-looking rat had disappeared from sight. His toe was bleeding profusely from the remarkably deep bite, and it hurt like fire. He was nearly hyperventilating, and the last thing he needed now was to pass out. That thought panicked him further, making the effort to calm down all the more unattainable.

The room took a half-spin, and he threw out a hand against the wall to steady himself. There was a unique quality to the pain that touched a raw, submerged memory.

A memory of being in pain in the armor. How…how could that be? He had a flash of being in terrible pain, like the pain now only far stronger, enveloping his whole being. It had been while he was still sealed. A hand had been under his helmet, touching the blood seal. And the pain had come in a jolt.

He tried to concentrate and bring the memory into focus and lost it. Trying to remember was disorienting; memories seeped out uncontrollably and interfered with his senses, numbing and confusing them.

Then the red glow of the rat's eyes clicked with a flashback; he had seen that eerie radiance before. It was the same demonic glow as in the eyes that mocked him when the pain in the armor had grown beyond his ability to tolerate.

Reawakened, the habits of existence in the metal shell flooded back and dominated his reflexes once more. He stopped feeling the bite, lost his center of gravity and fell hard off the side of the bed. It was a struggle again to coordinate his body's movements. All his progress in relearning his human form's motor control disappeared as the useless reflexes for moving the metal armor surged back into dominance. An obedient body would have been screaming for help instead of thudding mutely on the floor.

Envy watched with interest. Al was certainly not very good in his flesh body yet. He was not completely seated back into his physical being. Envy had inhabited many bodies in his long existence, and it was easy for him to see exactly what Al's problem was. Alphonse was trying to settle in on instinct alone, with no experience to guide him. He was far enough along that the danger of disassociating was past; he was clearly rooted in the body. But he hadn't completed the alignment of thought, reflex and feedback from the senses that was necessary for synchronization.

It was not a good feeling to be out of synch with a host body, even your own. Envy hated the first few days after a change. He didn't pity Al, exactly, but he did have a measure of empathy. It was pure hell to have to synch in slowly without knowing how. He still remembered his first time clearly. At least he had been provided with a guide who had explained what he was trying to do.

Al was pretty helpless on the floor. Envy could tell that he'd lost the reins completely. He couldn't resist a bit of fun. He scurried out and stopped right in Al's line of vision and relished the widening of the soft brown eyes when he was spotted.

_Oh yes, Alphonse. You're no towering hulk of weapon-deflecting armor. You're a simpering, helpless little soft blob of flesh. Right now, an uncooperative, paralyzed blob. And I'm thinking…somehow…I will still make use of you someday._

Envy waddled forward, twitching his whiskers mischievously. Al's attempts to get up weren't getting him anywhere. He made certain that he stayed right in the boy's line of sight to give it the full effect. He grew closer, a yard, two feet, a foot away. He closed a few more inches. Just a few more to go.

He had to admit that the Elrics gave him more hours of amusement than all the other humans he played with put together. He let a whisker brush Al's eyelid. His mouth opened a little, to give those quivering brown eyes a better view of his long, yellow teeth.

The nose or the ear; he waffled for a moment: where to leave his mark? He sat up on his hind legs to get a better view of the ear. Al was only managing to squish the side of his face against the floor; he had succeeded in getting one leg moving a little. Envy estimated from personal experience that he had several minutes to play before Alphonse had regained enough control to make any kind of effective defensive move.

He shuffled forward and licked Al's lower lip a few times, then reared up with a paw splayed on the same lip.

He had been hasty in making that bite on his toe. He shouldn't have been so quick to leave evidence. Otherwise, he could have stopped here, and they would have all thought Al was crazy when he told them about this. Rats on his face. What a loony.

Envy began to nibble delicately at the soft earlobe. It was quite tender, although not very tasty, unlike a truly meaty part. He moved up to the taut skin of the pale, lightly perspiring temple, making small, shallow nips and letting his whiskers tickle. His small paws scrabbled at the skin a bit. Al's head managed a sideways twitch, and a sound made its way from his rat-licked lips.

Envy took one hard, piercing bite into the bridge of Al's nose and finally, a hand came up, just missing him. Time to bail. He trotted off a few feet and sat. Al's face was dotted in small wounds oozing up little balls of blood , and the deep nose bite was doing a fine job making small rivulets of crimson stripe the pale skin.

He turned and took his time waddling off, reflecting on the taste and texture of this one. Not bad, definitely related to Fullmetal…but nowhere near as delicious.

_tbc_


	12. Chapter 12

_I apologize in advance for this installment and ask that you bear with me...real life has conspired to make it darn near impossible to write at the moment. I will continue as best I can until things ease up, hopefully soon so I can come back and edit this much more cohesively. For now, I'm posting this up as is and moving on to keep the story rolling...as obscure as it is at the moment, there is a plotline and I don't want to lose track of it. _

**Chapter 12**

Al's distress level, as astronomical as it was, did ratchet down a little as the rat disappeared under the shelves. But it had retreated only to attack again the first time, and it could easily come right back out. He was helplessly aware that his reflexes were still returning too slowly to do much about it, if it attacked again now.

Where the hell was Fuery? It would figure that today, when it would be welcome, he was long overdue with that usually annoying morning breakfast visit. Al's eyes flicked nervously along the shelving.

The handful of minutes felt like forever before Al's legs started to cooperate enough to kick with them. He'd managed to make a bloody mess all over the floor just from his gashed toe; his nose wound had begun to seep enough that his hair and neck were getting sticky and wet. The dull ache from landing on the hard floor was just beginning to make itself known.

When his arms started responding, he didn't wait for balance. He rolled over and crawled on his belly across the cold cement floor to the make his escape, leaving a long smears of blood in his wake. While the trip to the door was a success, progress ended with the fruitless efforts to reach up and undo the lock. His arm had little stability. It took several attempts to get his fingers close enough to even touch the dulled brass. His hand refused the orders to the finer muscles and batted at the lock uselessly. Giving up was not an option; not with his heart pounding in fear that the silence might be broken at any second by the approach of scrabbling claws. Every instinct told him that what he had seen was more than a mere animal, prodding him with an urgency far beyond the dread of suffering a repeat of the rodent's assault. It was more than enough motivation to continue the effort.

He was still struggling, concentrating fiercely on making his hand close over the latch when the sudden, loud knock at the door nearly gave him a heart attack.

"Alphonse?" came the routine call. A key rattled in the lock.

Fuery charged in with a tray in his hand and didn't realize that Al was on the floor until he tripped over him.

The sight he looked back on, after the dance to keep from falling or dropping anything, shocked him.

"My God, Al, what happened to you?"

"A rat, it was a rat!" Al blurted thickly. He was already crawling out the open door, and Fuery put a hand on his back to stop him.

"Hold up, where do you think you're going? I don't see anything. When? Did you see where it went?"

"Under the shelves."

"Here, let's get you off the floor." Al's behavior was puzzling, it didn't make sense to be staying on the ground when you needed to avoid a six-inch-tall animal.

" It…" Al was running out of breath. "It attacked me on the bed."

"Good grief. Here, can you help me? Can't you stand?"

"No, I can hardly move."

Fuery half-lifted, half-dragged him back to the bed.

"Outside! We need to go outside!" Al cried as he was muscled back onto the blood- spotted bunk.

"Calm down." Fuery pulled out his sidearm and went to the utility cabinet for a flashlight. He pointed the beam of light under the shelving, then all along the floor, under the furniture, and in all the corners near them. The open space past the shelving was so large there was no way to check every inch right away, but at least he could confirm that the little beast wasn't close by. He turned to size up the boy. That was quite a story he was telling.

More of Al's muscle control locked back in, and he sat up and wobbled on the edge of the bed. This sudden mobility, right after claiming to have such lack of it, confused Fuery even more. Al got up, and Fuery took his arm and sat him back down.

"You're really bleeding there. You need to hold still. Let me get something to wrap that foot so we can get you to the infirmary."

As much as Al didn't want to go to the infirmary, at least it wasn't here where the rat-thing was. Fuery patched him up enough to stop the worst of the bleeding before helping him into his sweats.

Although he would have preferred to send for transport, Fuery led him out into the confusion of brightening daylight. He helped Al limp the considerable distance to the medical unit, since the wounded boy refused to wait in the barracks for a ride.

xxxxx

"These weren't 'just' inflicted; you misspoke, am I right?" the medical intake technician peered with an almost-amused challenge to his voice.

"Just now. I just walked in on him after it happened," Fuery said, giving the bridge of his glasses a tap of habitual adjustment.

"Well, then, pray tell how these wounds are already so badly infected? Nice try, gentlemen. Now tell me another tall one."

"In…infected? Do you…do you mean rabies?" Al stuttered.

The med-tech held up a hand to put a pause on that question. "Judging from the severity of the infection, there's been quite a time lapse from when these bites occurred. How long ago was it, really?"

"I tell you, no more than half an hour. We came straight here." Fuery shook his head. None of this made any sense.

The medic shook his head. "I don't suppose you were able to capture the beast responsible for all this."

"No sign of him."

"Shame. I have to say, this is one rare rat, if rat it truly is. These are remarkably deep, vicious bites for a mere rat. And your rabies question…rats can carry diseases, but the odds against one having rabies is extremely high; rat-human transmission just hasn't been seen in years. Clinically there's no reason to start the shots if it was a rat. But that brings us back to the question, if this really was a rat."

"It was the body of a rat. Just the body." Al was shaking now, holding his head.

Fuery was becoming alarmed. "Hey Al, hang on. It's all right. They can fix you up." Al had phrased that last comment so oddly, it gave him a chill.

"Now, what on earth…I think he's going into shock," the medic said in disbelief. "What the hell is going on here?" He called for a nurse and they forced Al to lie flat so they could install IV lines and cover him with blankets.

Too spaced out put up a fight, Al ended up on an antibiotic IV back in the ward he'd been released from not all that long ago. The debate over whether to begin the series of rabies shots all centered around his reliability as a witness to what had happened to him. The issue of whether the wounds were old or new caught the attention of the ranking physician in charge, who looked over the patient's chart with a knowing frown. He remembered a similar conundrum with another man's wounds, wounds far more severe, that he had treated in the past. Over a year ago, and the patient had been this boy's older brother, brought in from the field with life-threatening fresh, gaping injuries that were somehow already riddled with well-established, aggressively spreading infections.

Barely conscious from the strain of battling the assault that was already infiltrating his bloodstream, Al was in no condition to worry about Havoc returning and finding a bloody mess and an empty barracks.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Fuery had given in and left Ed, intending to let him rest just for a bit while he went to check on Alphonse and deliver his breakfast. While he was unavoidably detained for the rest of the morning in that errand, he really didn't miss much as far as watching over Ed was concerned.

Ed didn't stir noticeably the entire day, except for one excursion, limping slowly down the hall to use the bathroom and return to his bed. By evening, the day-long inactivity and off-and-on dozing had finally taken some of the weight out of his gloom. He started to sit up with a bare touch of interest in the state of things outside his doorway. When he leaned forward for a better angle the windows revealed that he had lost the entire day. The light outside was waning.

The significance of the decreasing visibility through the windows struck him then, replacing dulled senses with a sharp stab of alert. A touch of memory stirred, a warning, and a sense of déjà vu. His throat tightened, aggravating the ache there that he now began to wonder actively about.

Unable to figure any of it out, he followed his instincts instead and pressed back into the room to make sure he couldn't be seen easily from the windows. At the foot of the bed, against the wall, he stood and began gnawing on his fist, trying hard to call up the memories provoking him in his subconscious.

At least he was in a position to flip off the lights in the room with minimal exposure from the window. How he wished they hadn't removed the door in response to his disobedience in transforming his automail in Mustang's office. Privacy was not an issue; they could watch him every minute if they were watching out for him. But being exposed to the unknown lurking outside the glass while in his only personal space was heart-stopping.

With shaking hands he took the three-panel screen they had left for him after removing the door and folded it out. The fear that gripped him as he fumbled and pushed the screen over to block the doorway frustrated him as well. It wasn't good enough; the windows went from the floor to ceiling twice the height of his doorway in the hall; a space of reflective glass was still visible above the top of the screen.

Something would have to be up high, far taller than any person, to see in at that angle. But that didn't seem to help Ed's mindset. He shrank back to stand flattened against the wall at the end of the bed. His eyes never left the gap above the screen as he pawed the blanket down and off the unmade bed, wrapping himself in it as he slid down the wall. The gap shrank until it as no longer visible by the time he was sitting on the floor. With the screen in place, if he stayed down on the floor, he could not be seen from the windows at any angle. From this awkward position he gradually became aware of his shoulder throbbing where the automail joined it, and felt his back aching off and on in wildly varying degrees.

The only thing he could clearly understand was that he was sure that something was out there looking for him, and that he was isolated in this knowledge. If only he wasn't having such a bad day, he could think and try to figure out what to do.

But his brain felt muddy, heavy and cold. All day it had gone in circles, dredging up dark self-accusations, vaguely making inference to his responsibility in half-remembered heinous acts. His captivity here was some form of incarceration. His depression centered around his ignorance about the punishment. He was resigned to it regardless.

In the course of the day he had figured out that he was only in custody here because they didn't execute the insane until they sobered up, emotionally speaking. He'd at least put together than much. There was no point in alerting the guards about his discomfort, nor of the threat. They would either not believe him, or have no reason to care.

So who or what was out there that was any kind of threat to a condemned prisoner?

For all of his worrying and dark thoughts while sitting on the floor, nothing happened.

Time went by, and until the night guard came and moved his screen to check on him, nothing happened at all.

A bit of the memory of the night before warmed up a corner of his brain. A few flashes from months ago of hanging on to Havoc's sleeve. The recollection of waking up in the library and seeing all the faces above him, and knowing that he had performed a transmutation that had trapped him in the dark.

He couldn't put the pieces together, they were too random. He recalled the doctor putting him to sleep to wire his jaw and stitch his chin, saying that he was sorry to hear that he had been attacked but he would fix him up, and was it true that it was his own brother who had assaulted him?

That grim conviction that he had murdered Alphonse wavered. The sound of the Lieutenant's laugh as she helped him re-learn how to braid his hair. Mustang telling him he would protect him. None of that made sense if he were in custody as a criminal.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, and the shot of oxygen seemed to clear the fog a little more. He had been back in that habit of barely breathing, becoming unwilling to let so much as air past his defensive barriers. His lungs seemed to protest at first, stiff and stilted, until his efforts set them back to functioning properly. Finally, he was emerging from his half-conscious state.

His hand brushed the ridge of scar tissue on his side, and his self-awareness expanded to the state of his body. It was so strangely ruined, covered in scars, and weak. His muscle tone was all but gone, the weight of the automail was becoming painful and hard to manage. He was supposed to be doing strict isometrics daily to stay functional, but from the pain it was clear that he hadn't done the routine in a long time…he knew better than to ever let that happen.

He should have been smart enough not to do whatever caused these badly-healed wounds, and obviously, that wasn't true either. The hard ridges of scar tissue felt like foreign objects on his body, their size and shape defying believability.

The doctor said that Alphonse had attacked him. He'd bet his life that the doctor was wrong. His brother would never hurt him.

His brother couldn't possibly have..._cast him down to earth instead of sharing the stone_.

Then where was this flash of memory coming from, this image of being thrown down? The heartbreaking thoughts from when his face was swelling from blows delivered by the Al's steel gauntlets? Uncovered in the midst of this impossibly difficult attempt at calm, logical thinking, the glimpse of that memory was exquisitely painful, nearly as fresh as the day it occurred. Defense reflexes swept in and muddied it all up, swapping delusions in and out of those just-grasped memories until logic was lost and it was all unbelievable. It served to spare him from recognizing that those thoughts were actual memories just at the last moment. Instead, it turned into just one more misstep out of reality, another phase in the disorder of the day. When he let it go, the whole mess suppressed itself well away from his functional thinking, pushing all of his little brother's images just out of reach.

The redirection was enough, enough to know he was mistaken in his thinking. The role he'd been languishing in today was false, imagined courtesy of his disobedient mind. Life was not the black solid of being an evildoer condemned for his sins without options.

No, it was boiling quicksilver, bubbles of distorted images reflected from the past, with nothing for certain and everything slipping away or changing by the time he could grasp it. There was no firm footing for his thoughts, and little continuity of experience to take shelter in and regroup.

The room began coming together in his perception, along with his place in it. Soon after that, the Colonel and Havoc came to mind and he instantly felt the insecurity of missing them. They seemed to be able to wade through the cataclysm and stand like islands, seeing clearly through the things that blinded him, providing a lifeline when he crashed under the tsunami of memories. He couldn't hide the fact that he needed them to hold on to. How else was he supposed to sort though the unreliable testimonials from his scrambled brain, and once discovered, cope with the experiences that were engraved in his flesh? How was he to know whether any of these things were real?

This line of deep thinking broke off as his full attention went to the silhouette growing larger on the screen. It was huge. All breathing and thinking stopped.

"Edward," a gruff but somehow melodic voice piped in. "Are you decent, young man? I must come in, I need to observe your general demeanor and inspect your condition per the Colonel's orders."

Scrunched as far down as he could, Ed peered up from the floor and met Armstrong's sad smile as it appeared from the slowly opened screen.

"My boy, that's really no place for you." Large hands approached. "Let me help you up."

Ed's arms came up to ward him off, and the Major stopped. This was far better than the situation last night, but he had no idea what had triggered the young man into that awful state. He didn't want a repeat performance tonight.

"You'd be more comfortable in bed, a lad needs a proper place to get truly restorative sleep." He made his explanation, but didn't advance any further yet.

"No," Ed said weakly. He wasn't sure how to explain it. "Don't."

"You remember me, don't you?" Coming from such a huge, muscular man, the sensitive, sadly-intoned question touched Ed somehow.

"I feel like I should, but…" Ed looked down with guilt. "I'm not sure."

"We were fellow alchemists and I felt we were kindred spirits in a way. I would never do you any harm, Edward, and I would defend you with my life if anyone else tried."

Ed, still looking down, nodded. He hoped the burly man didn't think it was all right to touch him now. His instincts told him not to let anyone touch him unless he was certain who they were.

"You're still not sure of me."

Ed shook his head.

"The Colonel won't be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He had to make a visit in the field."

Ed looked up. An image of Mustang flashed into his awareness, and the realization that he'd been waiting and uncomfortable in part because that face had been missing all day. The field…battlefield? Where he might get hurt, or worse…Ed grabbed his knees hard and balled up tight. More facets of the Colonel's identity came to mind. The Flame Alchemist. Roy. His recruiter, finding him fresh in his shame and injury from murdering his mother.

"He wants you to be calm and try to act sensibly, those were his orders and I am supposed to convey them to you." Armstrong went down on one knee. "You were having quite a rough time last night, Edward. Would you like to talk about it?"

Ed looked at him warily, drawing back against the wall.

Armstrong sighed. "You don't even remember - do you, lad?"

Ed shook his head.

"All right. I'll strike a bargain with you. I'll leave you alone in just a little while, just as you wish. You just need to drink a bottle of water and take your pill. It's my job to see to it that you take the pill, and I understand that you haven't had anything to eat or drink all day. So you have to drink all of the water for me to go away. Is that fair?"

Armstrong tried handing Ed the bottle and the pill with no luck; he wisely re-thought his approach and instead set them down by the young man's hip and plainly took his hands away. Ed didn't hesitate then; he swallowed the pill and chugged the water down quickly without taking his eyes off the muscular major.

"I just need to stay here with you for a few more minutes, Edward. I need to make sure you're stable." If Ed was going to have a problem with the medication he needed to be close by. The assurance that he would leave had relaxed Ed a little, even though he really had no intention of letting the young man out of his sight for any length of time while he was in such a precarious condition.

It was a mild sedative, and despite being in bed most of the day, Ed grew sleepy and his resistance softened. He slumped against the end of the bed, still sitting on the cold floor. The juncture between his thigh and the automail began to ache, but he regarded it distantly. The chill from the ground and his slowing metabolism made him begin to shiver; at first in little spasms, and then constantly.

Armstrong took his cue and went out to wait unobtrusively out in the hall, quietly checking a few doors, giving Ed a chance to lower his guard even more. After a few minutes, he went back in. Ed looked at him owlishly this time, his attitude more relaxed and receptive under the influence of his medication. But his body was shaking like a leaf.

"I came back to help you. Not to worry," Armstrong said, softening his voice as much as he could. He reached for Ed and shook his head unconsciously at the hard trembling of the shoulder under his touch.

"Uh - no!" The automail hand flicked at him in an uncoordinated attempt to push him away. The sudden upset stopped abruptly when the large hand left pulled back and physical contact broke off.

"It's okay, just relax. You don't ever have to fear me, Edward." Armstrong went down on one knee again to get better eye contact. When he had taken his hand away, he noticed that Ed began digging at his neck and shoulder and wincing. "I notice that you've got some pain there. That's not good. We can give you something for that."

"Its normal for my thing like this," Ed breathed, shuddering hard and squeezing the aching overtaxed neck muscles.

Armstrong nodded enthusiastically, only vaguely making sense of the statement, but very encouraged by his charge's new willingness to communicate. "I didn't know. But if it's normal, it's still okay to take something for the pain. I don't want to see you hurting."

"My fault."

"Probably not, huh? And even so, we can take care of it."

"Shouldn't. I won't learn. I already hardly remember." Ed's eyes scrunched shut and his hands deserted their digging at the sore muscles to press woefully into his face.

"Tell me, and I'll remember for you. And then you can let go and let me give you something that will help." The Major brought his hand forward again, slowly, and placed it Ed's upper arm in a light touch. The watery eyes lifted to watch him closely, and his whole body wobbled in reaction, but he didn't make a defensive move this time. He just stared and continued to shake.

"Do you want to tell me, Edward? You don't have to. But you should let me get you off this floor. You're in an odd position, and I don't know if you realize it, but that can make things worse when you're hurting. Believe me, I know something of how the human body works."

Ed mumbled something; the nearest thing the burly soldier could guess was that it sounded like was the Colonel's name. Whatever it had been, it wasn't an objection.

Armstrong leaned forward and lifted him easily, intending to deposit him on the bed. That move was interrupted. When he picked up the chilled body, the shaking had increased dramatically. Ed had clutched his coat and silently buried his face in it. Mismatched fingers twined tighter in the blue material as Ed felt himself being slowly moved through the room, and he resisted the Major's attempt to put him back down.

"What is it?" Armstrong whispered. Huge and powerful as he was, he felt helpless. He couldn't do a thing for Ed without understanding what was bothering him.

Ed made a distressed sound deep in his aching throat, clinging as he tried to sort out why this man's smell meant something positive. He had to keep trying to remember, with each breath he tried anew to associate the smell with something that was so very close. He ran out of energy and with a shuddering intake of breath released his tight hold, jerking in reflex at the sudden shift away from that broad chest. He gave a small gasp at the thought of falling.

Armstrong had him securely, though, and tightened his hold reassuringly. He lowered the trembling boy onto his bed and released him carefully. It had shocked him, the sheer weight of the automail. He had always assumed it was a somewhat reasonable approximation of the weight of a normal limb, but these were easily at least three times that. As weak as Ed was, it seemed almost impossible that he was still able to function with them attached. It made sense, now, that Ed was experiencing pain in his upper body. It seemed certain that the strain on the rest of his frame must be just as painful.

"I think I know what the source of your pain is," he said. "Do you remember how you cope with it?" When he tried to move away, he saw that Ed had a grip on his jacket again. Instinctively, he unbuttoned it and slipped it off, letting Ed keep it for the time being.

"Wait, wait…"

"I'm not leaving quite yet. Let's get you covered up." Ed's body had been remarkably cold. The older Alchemist threw on the covers from the foot of the bed and the floor, then went to the cabinet and took out an extra blanket and threw it on, too. Ed stared quietly with the coat pressed to the side of his face, distracted by the layers of material appearing over him. Someone had brought in the extra blanket from home, he couldn't remember who, but the pale peach color stood out warmly from the mottled grays of the standard-issue wool. It took a few minutes before he settled down enough to free his attention from the covers.

After that, Ed's shaking slowed and then disappeared except for the occasion sudden spasm. Armstrong firmly patted him through the covers a few times. Calm had been restored. Ed's quiet seemed to reflect a touch of inner peace, so rather than press him into talking, Armstrong left well enough alone.

He managed to coax Ed into drinking a liquid meal replacement by holding the straw to his lips before the warmth and the drug took him all the way into sleep.

xxxx

"I didn't think we'd ever see another case like this. Maybe it's something genetic in the boys. Something that's triggered when they get wounded, some sort of aberration in their immune system, or some rare resident virus." Dr. Gansworth blinked after straightening up from the microscope. "It's a dreadful strain of infectious agent, whatever it is. That small culture has an incredible odor. Be sure to stay masked any time you work with it."

The lab assistant nodded, setting down the test tubes filled with various liquids awaiting scrapings of the sample for incubation.

"You think it's a contagion?"

"Anything's possible. But this makes two cases total I've seen in a lifetime. Not exactly an epidemic."

"Was the other incident with a rat, too?"

Dr. Gansworth looked down with a frown. "That other incident is classified. I will say that it was not something a mere rodent could have done." He suppressed a shiver. Of all of the mangled bodies and myriad types of wounds he had seen, Edward's haunted him more than most. The boy had nearly severed his own hand at the wrist in his struggle to slip the bonds that had held him for torture. When the rescue team raced into the emergency with the young man resembling a carcass from the butcher, it was bad enough. But the wounds were all rotten with infection and the kid kept waking up in full-blown terror, weakly straining to get away and calling out pitifully with the barest of noise from a throat already destroyed from screaming. Some of the blood vessels in his eyes had ruptured, and deep red flooded the area where the whites should have been. He looked like he had been ripped back from hell itself, and half of hell had stayed on for the ride.

The doctor had never heard that the assailants were captured. It still gave him pause, when his shift ended in the middle of the night, and he had to walk out to his car all alone in the creeping mist. Those fiends were still out there, somewhere, free to strike again.

He was almost glad this latest incarnation of that nasty infection was just the result of an animal.

"We came up with a moderately effective combination of topicals and medication last time. We're starting that regimen on this boy already. He has an advantage there; we nearly lost his brother before we hit on an effective treatment. His brother still has a compromised immune system because of it. Hopefully we can avoid that this time."

Al was resting in a veil of tubes, draped, oxygen-masked and in subdued lighting. They had him drugged into deep sleep, and when afternoon ripened into evening and then slipped into night, time passed by without him.

xxxxxxx

It was verging on 3 in the morning when Breda intercepted the car from his post at the guard station by the entrance. On hearing the news, Hawkeye sped them to the infirmary, but once inside, it was anticlimactic. Al was asleep, covered in medical trappings, but bore little in the way of wounds. It looked more like someone had dressed him up for sport.

The physician on duty explained about the infections, the shock, and the significant blood loss. The unpleasant nature of the experience couldn't be overlooked, either.

"You can stay a few minutes. Lord knows, you won't wake him. He's heavily sedated." The doctor hooked the clipboard back on the foot of the bed and went back to his desk near the nurse's station.

"He doesn't look all that bad." Mustang mused.

"Well, he did say they already knew how to treat it." Havoc said.

"I hope they aren't being overconfident, not giving him the shots for rabies," Hawkeye worried.

"Eh, bubonic plague is what they carry. And I think that was from their fleas, not their bites. The doctors know what they're doing, for the most part. At least we don't have to worry Ed with this. Speaking of Ed, I need to check in and see how he did while we were gone. Looks like Alphonse is down for the count anyway." Mustang rubbed his tired forehead.

"Who had the watch?" Havoc asked, turning to head for the door.

Mustang nodded to the door and waited to reply until they were in the hallway, mindful of Al's need for rest. "Fuery had the day shift, and Armstrong was on again for the night."

They filed out onto the sidewalk, hands shoved in their coat pockets, passing through the icy pools of light under the streetlamps on their way back to the car.

xxxxxxxx

Ed was sleeping soundly enough, with a larger than usual pile of covers obscuring most of his body . Clutched in his automail hand was an oversized blue military jacket. The room seemed to be in about the same condition as it had been in when they left.

Mustang stood over him and watched for a few minutes, finally breaking off when Havoc came to the door to peer in as well.

"The log looks clean. Haven't run across Armstrong yet, though," Havoc said quietly.

"Looks good here. They must have been getting along," he said, picking up the loose sleeve of the coat as evidence.

"So what do you think?"

"Let's call it a night. Looks like everything is under control here. I'll get the Major's report in the morning. That's what…three hours from now?" Mustang sighed, checking his pocket watch. "Come in a couple of hours late if you want, get a little more sleep."

"Thanks, Chief. They said Al won't be up for any company until the afternoon. I'd like to try and be there for him when he's up for a visit."

"Good idea. Later, Havoc. Hit it."

"Right." The tall blonde took his tired body out the door with a grateful smile.

In his slumber, Ed sensed Mustang had been in the room. It drifted him out of his dreamless state and into a warm vision of pure fantasy. He was fully restored, and Mustang was sitting in the shade of a tree, watching him struggle as he wobbled and fell.

"Ed, just be patient. Slow steps. You have to relearn how to work half your body and all of your balance has changed." Mustang was watching with a pained look. "Are you sure you don't want me to spot you?"

"I can do this, damn it. It shouldn't be so difficult!" Ed growled. He tipped too far forward and landed on two vulnerable elbows, hitting the ground so hard that it brought tears to his eyes.

"Ed," Mustang rose to stand over the fallen boy, holding out a hand.

Ed glared at the hand, then at the face. But the look in those dark eyes made him feel guilty. He didn't want the man to worry about him, but he so obviously did. He reached up, and found himself pulled into a supportive hold.

"L-look, I'm all right."

"I know. Pretty soon, you'll be charging off without a misstep. And then you'll be off on your way. You've achieved your goals, Ed, you should be proud. The military was never the right place for you, I know that. And I know how things go, you'll say that you'll be in touch, but once you walk away, I'll never see you again. I guess I'm just surprised at how much it hurts to think about that."

Ed had been resisting, but with that, he grew still. "I guess I hadn't really thought about it. I just…think of you as being there now. I never thought of it as not being able to see you."

Mustang smiled bitterly. "It's not important. Happens, you know, every time you change jobs or duty stations. You lose people all the time, and it's not the worst way you can lose them. A man gets used to it."

"But…" he startled the older man by resting his cheek on his broad chest. "It's not like we're just co-workers. Are we?"

"Ed, we're partners of circumstance. As soon as you get home, you can start to forget all of this. You should. It was selfish of me to complain; it's just that I'm really going to miss you."

"I promise that I'll stay in touch. I won't just leave and never see you again."

"Realistically, once you get home with Alphonse and your dad, and you start getting back together with your old friends, you'll wonder why you made that promise. Just let it go, the same way I have to let you go."

"No. No, you're wrong! It won't be like that. We're…" Friends seemed like too weak of a word, and family seemed too presumptuous. His mind floundered for lack of the right term.

But the Colonel had gently pushed him away, forcing him to resume working on his coordination if he wasn't going to topple over.

"Hey!"

Mustang turned and began slowly walking away without reply.

"No, hey, don't go yet…Colonel!" Ed took too quick of a step, his restored leg lagged and buckled, and he went down in a heap. "Oof! Hey, some help here?"

"You have what you came for, Ed. You don't need me anymore," the voice came from a distance, and Ed jerked his head up to see the broad-shouldered figure growing smaller, still walking away.

"No, wait! I can't…I can't get up. You bastard, wait!" The silhouette was sinking and disappearing as Mustang's path took him over the rise of the slight hill and down. Ed was trying to crawl to follow, but only one arm obeyed his commands with much accuracy. The other dug uselessly at the loose grass and soft dirt.

He closed his eyes hard. They were stinging, and he bit back the bitter feeling of abandonment to keep from shedding any tears. The strength went out of his uncontrolled effort and his forehead dropped down onto the turf.

The smell of fresh, cold earth filled his head. It was time to man up, regroup. The Colonel wasn't his daddy or his best friend or his wife or his anything, and never had been. Just his ranking officer. It had been his own decision to be discharged; and by doing so, he had carelessly severed their bond without a second thought.

The feeling of loss grew until it rumbled ominously in his chest. It took a moment to figure out that the rumble was becoming a physical one. Suddenly, the realization struck him that there was movement beneath him. A steel hand lanced up out of the ground and axed into his chest. It threw him back with a wet gasp. He grabbed at it with his one obedient arm, but his efforts couldn't begin to hold it at bay. The metal was ripping and rummaging in his chest cavity as blood shot against his chin in a thick, pulsing fountain.

"Colonel!" he screamed, thrashing well beyond the point where the dream left off and the creak of the springs told him he was in his own bed.

Sweating and breathing hard, he clawed frantically at the coat, shaking his head back and forth in the effort to make sense of what he held. When had he snatched the coat from the officer's back, how could he have, when he was wearing it when he disappeared on the horizon?

The horizon? He eyes traveled from the coat to the walls, and his attempt to wipe the spittle from his lower lip ended in a painful smack from the automail arm, smashing the ever-raggedly bitten flesh between his bottom teeth and the cold metal. He recoiled in the face of the evidence that it was still a limb of unnatural origin.

Hawkeye was starting the question the wisdom of her decision to tough it out and get the morning rosters ready instead of going home for a few hours. Coming down the hall on the way to splash water on her face in the ladies room, she heard Edward cry out and made it to his room in double-time.

Her appearance in the doorway froze Ed in his confusion.

"Ed, you all right? Ed?" she asked, holding out open palms. "Bad dream?" He was bolt upright in the bed, clutching Armstrong's coat and looking at his own prosthesis as if it were a ghost. His bare chest was heaving. His eyes were too wide as he took in her approach. "I'm here now. You know everything is all right now, don't you? "

"He's gone?" Ed choked, more of a leftover bubble of emotion from his dream than a real question.

"The Major?" she asked. Her careful steps took her to the bedside and she reached out, just touching the coat to see his reaction.

Ed's mouth came open, but he just looked at her hand. The hand was solid, and as he focused on it the lingering belief in the scene from his dream was fading.

"It's the Major's coat. Right? He was on duty last night, so he's still around here somewhere. He won't be off-duty until seven this morning. He's probably walking the perimeter. You know how it is, when you're on watch. You remember what that duty was like."

It was disappointing in an odd way, that it wasn't the Colonel's garment snatched from a dream. He couldn't quite bring himself to let go of it, and it had a way of distracting his attention anyway.

He felt the bed's edge dip slightly as Hawkeye eased down, sitting to get a little closer.

The Lieutenant's hand made a slow glide across the coat and came to rest on his; she tried not to react at how cold and clammy his skin felt. He pulled away from her touch for a moment, then circumvented her hand and gathered up the coat again, at a part where her hand didn't interfere.

Her coat caught his eye now. Surrounded in royal blue, this meant he was in the right place. These were still his team colors. He shivered as a chill crept up his neck.

"Are you cold?"

He glanced down awkwardly and touched his bare chest. The motion made his shoulder spasm with pain that radiated from there down his spine and up into the base of his skull; he knew that warning sign well. From the depths of his erratic thinking, the knowledge that he had failed to maintain enough muscle tone to support the automail made his heart sink. He was close to the point of losing its function; he couldn't remember anything close to this much imbalance and pain since he first adapted to the installation.

It made sense, there had been too much bed rest and giving in to the urge to curl up in the fetal position and let it all go on without him.

He probably went through the same thing at some point during his confinement in the mental ward, but the door to those memories was still locked tight. He hadn't been able to mine a single scene or impression from those days. All he knew of it he had gleaned from comments half-remembered while he was in standby, from others talking about him as if he couldn't hear.

"Ed."

He startled, having drifted so far into his thoughts that he lost touch with his surroundings.

"Sorry," she said. "Ed, you look cold. Maybe you should lie back and cover up, finish your night's sleep? Whatever dream you were having, it's okay now. Unless you want to talk about it."

"Gotta get up," he groaned. He didn't want to. But he couldn't afford more malingering. He had to get up and start out doing his resistance exercises and stretches. It was going to hurt like fire for the next week or two, but he knew the price of the metal limbs and had come to accept it. The way he felt when those pieces were removed - helpless, naked, useless, ashamed - was worse than any pain his body could ever hope to come up with.

"Whoa, it's not dawn yet. You don't have to…"

"I do!" Ed tossed the coat to the side and bailed out past the startled woman, heading for the bathroom in just his shorts. He wobbled and limped, and his gait was more a forward stumble than a normal walk. His lower back joined in with sharp jolts, cramping from the off-center pull of his heavy devices.

He made it to the hallway and suddenly found it easier to balance. Strong hands were under his armpits and helping him along as if he were a mere toddler.

"I've got you now, Edward," Armstrong's voice was unnaturally quiet in his ear, so as not to alarm him. "Saw you from back there, not having an easy time of it, are you?" Actually, he had been silently waiting in the hallway after the Lieutenant had beaten him to the room in response to Ed's nightmare, listening in case he was needed.

'Uh…thanks." Ed swallowed his embarrassment in favor of a quicker trip to the facilities. He craned his head around and impulsively nudged the rock-hard bicep with his nose. He instantly felt much more secure in the iron grip. It was by far not the strangest action he had taken in front of the Major, and neither of them assigned it any significance. He straightened up and faced forward to start walking again.

"Delighted to be of help."

The towering officer sounded completely sincere, allowing Ed to be grateful and accept the assistance with a shred of dignity still intact.

"The Colonel will be glad to see you up and moving about again," Armstrong said cheerfully as he used the next urinal.

Ed glanced over, then paid attention to his own business, having nearly created a mis-fire from the distraction. The guy was peeing like a fire hose, and with their height difference it was way too evident in his peripheral vision. But Ed himself had been quite some time without a trip to the restroom, and they had a far longer stay at the porcelain wall together than he would have liked.

Armstrong almost asked an inappropriate question. Almost. He wasn't Ed's doctor or guardian, but he was well versed in physical health, organic properties and the mind-body connection - those things were integral to his alchemic specialty. Ed was a teenager, obviously. First thing in the morning, to be so…so having no sign of what a normal man, much less a hormonal teen boy, should evidence…it concerned him. It could mean there were other hidden physical problems. It could be a deep-seated aspect of his psychological disturbances, but the morning thing was in his opinion more about the purely physical and the evidence of healthy function.

He made a mental note to bring it up with Mustang instead. He himself had no real qualms about discussing it - functional things should function properly. But he doubted that Ed would derive any benefit from bringing it up casually.

He hesitated as Ed went and took a towel off the stack and headed for the shower stalls. Since it was the officer's lavatory, the stalls afforded half-walls for privacy. He wasn't going to use the facilities here himself, but Ed seemed wobbly still. His primary mission was to watch over the young man and observe his behavior, and it would be better to stay close in light of the circumstances. He had nothing to change into but the clothes he had on, and he had his own quarters to shower up in. It made the Major waffle for a moment. But in order to watch over Ed without being obvious…

He snagged two towels and followed him in, taking the next stall. Ed glanced up at him; he was tall enough that the half-walls were more of a gesture than a visual barrier. It probably didn't look that way to Ed. Being shorter, all he would see of his stall-mate was from the shoulders up, and it was unlikely that he would realize that the other man would get the full monty.

It was pretty educational. He learned that Ed liked hot water and lots of it. In typical teen style he spent an unnecessarily long time under the warming spray.

He learned that apparently soap was bad for automail, because he was rather skilled at getting it everywhere else without having it so much as touch the metal. He one-handed the shampoo and stood cantilevered so that when he rinsed it out, it went straight down his back but only down the flesh leg.

The leg that was shaking in the effort to hold all up all that weight.

And he saw it all, in the steam, highlighted by the pinked, showered skin: the incredible terrain of all of the scars and the damage that seemed to leave no point of anatomy untouched, the ridges of ribcage from under-nourishment, and swollen areas where the automail was straining the attachment points and pinching into the tender flesh.

By and large, it made him want to cry.

Ed finished rinsing and twisted the taps shut. When he began to towel off he had to scramble sideways to keep from falling from lost balance. He was leaning heavily on the half-wall, when a dry towel landed on his wet hair.

Armstrong, wrapped in two towels expertly twisted together at the waist, took him by the armpits again and guided him to the bench. No word were spoken, but Ed went along easily enough, and sighed in relief when he sat.

"You've got some issues there with your fitness. You could use a trainer. The Armstrongs come from a long line of experts in body-building and pro-active wellness. What say we get you on a schedule, see what we can do to address those areas that need improvement?"

"Uh," Ed said softly. "Well I…I know what I'm supposed to do. Er, sometimes I know. I know right now. I just forgot for a while. I just have to do it."

"Well, that's all right. If you can show me what it is you're supposed to do, I can remember it for you when you forget. And then, once you start getting your strength back, we can add to it. Get you more than just back to normal. We'll get you in tip-top condition! Nothing makes a man happier, more confident, alive!" The Major suddenly realized he'd gotten a bit loud as his voice boomed back, echoed off the tiles.

Ed's look was open and curious as he nodded at the huge towel-clad man. His positive response was greeted with a broad, mustache-framed grin. It made Ed smile back a little in return.

"I have to do it every day, but I don't remember doing it, and I think it's been like forever."

"And it looks like you're uncomfortable."

"It hurts so much," Ed admitted, lowering his eyes in embarrassment.

"Ah, lad. You're a tower of strength, but no one should bear what you must, and have to live with these pains that could be avoided."

"Tower?" That sounded funny to him, so far from his self-image it was inconceivable. "Me?" He shivered.

Big paws took the towel on his head and began wiping down his back. Reminded that he was spacing out in the middle of doing something, Ed finished drying up and tied a towel around his own waist. He'd done it again, gone to the shower without bringing a change of clothes.

Armstrong was dry now and pulling on his uniform again.

"You forget your clean clothes, too?" Ed asked benignly.

The Major smiled. "Yes, I did. See, everyone forgets things, there's no cause for concern."

"Uh-huh." Instead of heading back to his room like he usually did, Ed sat down again and waited so they could leave together. He was comfortable now in the burly alchemist's presence. They were kind of like friends now. Well, they were co-workers. But it felt a little more personal than that.

With the last swipe of a mustache comb, they were ready to go. Hands went under Ed's armpits and settled him on his feet.

"Your muscles should be a little more cooperative after that warm water."

Ed adjusted his pace, keeping it slow and deliberate, and made his way back to his room looking utterly vulnerable in just the towels. He had draped one over his back at the Major's insistence, unaware that it was as much to help the man stop looking at his scars on the short trip down the hallway as it was to keep him warmer. He had regained enough control to walk without any obvious problem.

With the bright daylight outside and the close presence of the huge, powerful soldier, Ed had forgotten his wariness of being in the windows for the moment.

"Should I show you my routine now?"

"Absolutely. As soon as you're dressed properly. That way, we know that from today forward, no matter what's on your mind, we can make sure that you do what you need to every day in order stay in shape."

As he showed the moves, grimacing from his body's protests, he wasn't even aware of the huge part of this activity he was forgetting entirely. He had been working with a 'trainer' from the beginning. Alphonse had monitored him daily, pushed him when he got lazy, and spotted any weakness with an eagle eye. He knew all the massage techniques necessary for automail patients, and had been able to perform them properly in spite of his lack of the sense of touch. It was one of many things that bonded them so closely.

Al's absence didn't come to mind at all.

_tbc_


	13. Chapter 13

_I think I need to start making shorter chapters, so I can update more often...would that be better? Or not?_

**Chapter Thirteen**

It was mid-morning when Havoc returned, quite a bit earlier than the time they had given him to drop by and see Al. After checking in to find his place on the duty roster, he diverted to Ed's room to see how he was doing. But when he got there, the bed was made and the room was empty. Disappointed, he moved on to the exit doors to go help Breda log in, inspect and lock up the new shipment of special ammunition in the storage bunker at the edge of the compound, his assigned task for the day. He couldn't spare the time to go hunting Ed down if he was going to finish up in time to visit Al this afternoon. It was not his place to do so anyway; keeping tabs on Ed was the responsibility of whoever was in charge of the day watch.

Mustang was already in his office, bored but not too much the worse for having so little shut-eye. He was used to it, the job often called for it, and often under conditions that were so much worse that you wouldn't care to sleep in them anyway. He plowed into the first stack of requisitions and scribbled his signature legibly. The first four or five were always pretty legible. But after that…

Hawkeye stuck her head in the door, not-so-subtly checking up on him for the millionth time in her career. Satisfied that he truly was working, she went to get him some coffee. When she returned to her desk after making that delivery, the red message light on her phone was blinking.

After listening to the recording, she returned the call.

"Corporal Wallace, I'm not sure I understood your message."

"Lieutenant, Alchemist Elric is here, and he's been trying to get into the restricted cabinets. I don't understand what he wants, but you understand, I can't just let him have access…"

"I'll be right there. Just tell him that, okay? Tell him to stop what he's doing and wait for me."

She stopped by the Colonel's door on the way. "I just had a call, Ed's down in the supply room. I'm going to go check on the situation."

Mustang looked up and nodded. "If there's a problem let me know."

"Yes, sir." She double-timed it, concerned that Wallace had mentioned the cabinets. They were locked, with glass-fronted doors that revealed that they held controlled substances and toxic materials. It was not something Ed should have any interest in.

Ed had both hands on the glass when she came in the doorway.

Wallace nodded in Ed's direction. "Just like that. Won't budge, won't tell me what he wants. Anybody else and I would have called the MP's. But I thought, since he's been the Colonel's responsibility, that you might want to handle this yourself."

Hawkeye nodded her appreciation at his use of discretion in dealing with the obviously confused soul.

"Edward," she said, stern but careful with her tone. "Take your hands off of the glass. Only authorized personnel can access those cabinets. If you need something out of them, you have to ask me first. Me, or the Colonel. Corporal Wallace must have a signed requisition to get anything out of there for anyone. "

Ed shook his head in a shivery motion, as if trying to settle her words in his head. His reluctance was obvious, but he finally did as he was told. His hands lowered, but his face went closer to the glass.

She tried to see what he was looking at. He was at the dispensary side, looking at the pharmaceuticals.

"Nothing," he said finally, straightening up and turning to leave.

"No, not 'nothing'. What were you looking for? Are you ill?" The medicines within were just supplies for the field kits for the medics; prescriptions for individual personnel came from the dispensary at the medical building. But of course, to Ed, he would simply be seeing a potential supply of medication without knowing any of those details.

"I…" he looked at her, then cast his gaze of sideways. "I used to take something. I think I still need it."

"What was it?"

"I don't know. It was white and gray. I thought…I thought I might see it."

"What did it do for you?"

He shook his head and shrugged, a quick and jerky series of movements.

"How can you need something if you don't know what it does?"

But Ed's focus was somewhere past her in the hallway and he was already leaving, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

Hawkeye looked over at the young soldier; he had returned to filling his requisitions at the long table by the shelves loaded with office supplies .

"Did he ask you for anything? What did he say?"

"He came wandering in here and went straight to where you found him. I think he may have spotted the stuff in the cabinet from the doorway. He never said a word until you got here. He didn't answer a single question; I was starting to wonder if he could even hear me."

"You handled the situation appropriately; well done. Carry on, Corporal," Hawkeye said. "If he comes back, call me immediately. Make sure this room is locked up tight when you're not here to keep watch. That means even if you're just making a quick trip to the bathroom. Got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She stepped out into the hallway in time to see Ed bumping along the wall, heading in the opposite direction she would have expected him to go in. He was going away from his room, further into the support services area, and he was half-heartedly tugging each handle when he came to a doorway. Without a pass badge, most of the doors wouldn't open. He came to the next door to find it wide open; he was pausing, seemingly getting ready to go in when she caught up with him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Edward - what are you up to?" she asked.

Ed did a double-take and stopped just shy of entering the steamy laundry room.

"N-nothing!" He shook his head vigorously, blonde hair falling forward to cover more of his face.

"Ed. Just tell me what you're doing."

"Nothing! I'm just…walking. And looking."

"Looking for what?" She thought he looked a little flushed; it wasn't easy to tell since he was hiding his face somewhat by looking down and away from her.

"I…I don't know. Something to do. I'm looking for something to do."

'Oh." Other than his task at the library, just existing without falling apart had been the young man's backbreaking job 24/7. "Are you bored? Is that it?"

"I need something to do. Something to think about." His hands came up and reached slowly towards her until he startled and jerked them back, as if his own action surprised him. His subconscious was pushing him hard to find some interaction, trying to force him to be around people if only for a while; it railed against the constant isolation and left him unsettled enough this morning to force him to leave the solitude of his usual area after the Major left him alone.

"Ed, are you all right?" She could see he was having a problem with his self-control, and he seemed very agitated and tense.

"I can't hold still, I need to do something." Ever since he'd shown the Major the routines he needed to repeat each day, the momentum just didn't seem to go away. It had been a long time since he had been engaged in purposeful movement, and it awakened a few long-sleeping forces deep within. Restlessness clawed at him intensely, making him act out his urges before they were even fully formed in his head

"If I give you a job to do, would that help?"

Ed was nodding furiously and reached for her again. She didn't feel threatened; it was actually making her very curious. When his pale hand touched her jacket he jerked back again, confused at his own impulses.

"Sorry!"

"Come on, Edward," she said calmly, hoping to settle him down with firm handling. "I have plenty for you to do. I have a workspace by my desk and you can sit right next to me." She took his hand and led him back down the hall.

"S-sure. I can sit by you." Ed concentrated hard on his gait; her brisk walk was just a little faster than his balky body could keep up with, but he didn't want her to know, so he didn't complain. He pushed himself to keep up until he was past his ability to safely control his progress, growing more off-balance and unsteady the faster she kept walking. When she turned the corner he tried to make the change of direction without breaking stride and his flesh leg buckled under him. His hand gripped in reflex and when he went down it pulled the Lieutenant down with him.

"Awp!" she exclaimed, pulled off her feet and backwards unexpectedly, landing hard on Ed's shoulder as he hit the ground first.

Ed cried out, too, as they toppled, straining ineffectively for the lost hope of balance. He landed flat on his chest on the cold floor with an unfortunate amount of force and took the brunt of the Lieutenant's impact on top of him a half-second later as they went down in an awkward heap, .

"Are you okay?" Hawkeye rolled to her knees quickly, unharmed but alarmed by the sudden uncoordinated movements beneath her. "Ed, just hold still a minute, let's make sure you're all right."

Ed slammed a fist into the floor with a pathetic, ineffective thud.

"Now, please Ed, don't. That's just going to injure your hand." Hawkeye took his fist to still it. "The floors are slick. It was just a slip…"

"No! It's me!" His mouth formed the words that would have revealed his mortification but without sufficient oxygen they were inaudible. He labored to catch his breath, lungs clenched tight from having the air knocked out of him.

A gasp of air finally made enough headway to lessen the suffocating feeling in his chest. At the same time, the Lieutenant's soft hand brushed his cheek, and it sent his mounting defensiveness tumbling again. Her careful, caring touch came as a jolt, and it flashed a tiny stab of light into his motivations, as unclear to him as they were to anyone in the murky depths of his struggling gut.

This need to roam was the symptom of a host of festering emotional pressures, none of which he had the ability to deal with logically. There were more complex issues that he needed a distraction from, and not just the discomfort of boredom or pent-up negative energy. He needed a distraction from his loneliness, from his desperate need to be close to someone. It was beginning to weigh on him, his solitude in the world, as his reviving awareness tried to rebuild his place in it. He had the people in the military, caring for him through their obligation. But other than that, he was completely alone.

His dream about leaving this place and these people had entrenched itself and quickly taken on an unhealthy meaningfulness in his waking thoughts, changing his focus; the idea of going away from here permanently was sensitizing him to his feelings of insecurity. In his dream, he had been going back to his home and family, and in reality he had neither. He was having to struggle consciously to suppress his desire to go find the Colonel and Havoc and spend time in their company, and it was so very difficult to maintain his composure about it. It hurt, nearly too much, to accept that they weren't friends and that he had to stop looking to them for relief from his desolation. He didn't dare reveal his feelings about it, for fear that they would withhold what comfort they did give when they realized how much were giving him inadvertently.

Comfort they had been giving him casually without realizing how much it meant to him, just like Hawkeye's gentle reassurance was touching him far too deeply now.

He scolded himself to stop giving in to his insane impulses, or he would never have any hope of being normal again. He couldn't possibly want a close personal relationship with them anyway, he was pretty sure of that. He told himself that he had an aversion to being too close to people, a normal, manly aversion. Once, when he was younger, he was more hands-on - but he had been a little kid, and that was with his family, and those days were gone. Now he had a large personal space that he would probably hate to have breached if he were well again, because he was supposed to, because it was normal and he'd just forgotten how unlike him it was to be weak and emotional.

He felt the tension and pressure building when he tried to be strong and it felt right, because that discomfort was something he remembered as a sign of normality. Being normal had always been painful for him, just like it was for everyone, and like normal people he dealt with it without complaint, just as he had before. It was the same sort of trade-off as the pain of the automail; it was the toll exacted for being able to pass himself off as a real boy.

He only had hints of what was buried even deeper beneath his pride and this preference, this need to put up an impenetrable front. A strong sense of revulsion lurked just out of his awareness, caused by the unwanted contact forced on him by Envy and his conspirators. Those experiences colored his perceptions, continuously triggering his survival instincts and causing him to dodge away from any sudden or unexpected interaction.

"It was my fault as much as yours. We just had a little accident. Look, I just want to make sure that you're all right; I'm okay because you cushioned my fall but I landed on you pretty hard. It's no fun getting the wind knocked out of you, " Hawkeye said reassuringly. She was watching him closely, giving him a minute to regain his composure now that he had his breath back. Since he said nothing, she couldn't be sure what he would do next. His expression was dark and he wouldn't reply in any way; it didn't seem to be anger in those amber eyes as much as pain and disappointment.

_I'm just embarrassed that I can't walk like I should, embarrassed because I fell…I'm just confused again, that's all._ Ed tried to jerk himself out of his inward spiral with more realistic thoughts. He blamed it on boredom, he'd gotten bored and it confused him. The Lieutenant's hand returned, intended to be comforting as she was trying to encourage him to roll over to sit up, and it was highly provoking. I gave him the bizarre desire to have her to scoop him up and hug him tight; yet he was equally compelled to shove her away and make her stop touching him altogether.

When he lifted up his head this time, her face was too close, and it took all his breath away once more. His expression must have reflected something, because she backed off and moved away when she saw it.

Ed swallowed hard and scrambled to his feet. He knew he was supposed to help women up, and it was with great relief that he saw that she'd gotten up when he did. The guilty leg held him up well enough when he held still, but he wasn't sure if he could have helped her up or not.

She held her tongue as he rose. It seemed like she was either asking Ed if he was all right or assuring him that things would be all right most of the time. He definitely didn't look 'all right' but she didn't think he wanted that pointed out at the moment. He was blushing and looking down uncomfortably, and he flinched back when she tried to get his attention by touching his shoulder.

She had a flash of Scheizka saying that Ed had reacted to a mere touch when he'd panicked and transformed the table and chairs to protect himself. Maybe having Mustang gone for the day was what had unsettled him, made him more defensive and insecure. That was what the Colonel had been concerned about, after all. If so, it was worrisome, because the next travel date was in just two more weeks, and the commanding officer was going to be away for three days this time. At least Havoc wasn't going on this one; his presence was usually on a par with Mustang's for helping Ed keep his bearings when things got tough.

She couldn't help but feel pained for him, trying so hard to hide his awkwardness, as if he thought that he would seem normal to everyone if he could just get more control of himself. Even his stance screamed abnormality; nothing about him led you to conclude that he was fine, nearly well, or even clearly less disturbed. That he was able to delude himself into thinking he could pass for normal just reaffirmed how far from reality his perceptions were.

He made a move to keep walking, so she let him lead the way back to the office, this time paying more attention to his progress. She slapped herself mentally for not noticing his level of difficulty walking earlier; she couldn't be sure if the limp now was from the fall or if he'd been lame already. She had probably damned near yanked him off his feet; her intent had been to move him along quickly so he wouldn't have the opportunity to lose concentration on where they were going and possibly get agitated again.

And with Al in the hospital it seemed wise to keep him close by; it was bad timing for him to decide to start wandering around unannounced this morning. The chance that he might stumble onto someone passing on the latest news about the younger Elric was far too great. It wasn't the sort of thing he should be hearing until he was deemed ready for it, and even then he needed to be under their supervision and control.

Since he didn't seem to want her to know that something was wrong with his mobility, she'd have to try to figure it out through observation; perhaps something might become more evident while he was helping her in the office.

It was a little surprising that he was still going through with this after their mishap. Not that she figured he'd be able to do much, but it seemed like a good sign that he was still willing to try.

"Here, take this chair." She gave him the chair with the padded seat instead of the bare wood one. He sat at the spare desk and looked up at her for instruction. "First off, something simple." She picked up a shoebox-sized carton of tangled paperclips, rubber bands, fasteners and odds and ends of small binding clamps, and placed it on the desk in front of him. "These need to be untangled and sorted out. Make sure they're all separated from each other. Especially the paper clips, most of them have gotten all linked together. As you get them apart, just put them in separate piles. Okay?"

Ed nodded and began picking at the tightly tangled wad of thin wire and whatnot. He pinched a section and lifted it; most of the contents of the box came up in one big, surprisingly heavy blob. He put it back down and began freeing the clips one by one with his more dexterous flesh fingers.

The solid desk in front of him, seated firmly in the chair, Ed felt sort of grounded. It felt like a defensible position, although he would have much preferred to have the wall behind him. He didn't like having his back to the aisle way. It was okay; but he wasn't going to be able to let his guard down.

Mustang stepped out of his office and watched for a moment. Although Ed had his back to him, he stopped suddenly and turned his upper body, even thought the Colonel could have sworn that he didn't make a sound.

Ed's look was unreadable as he stared up without a word.

His heart sort of stopped when he caught sight of the Colonel looking at him. It was an unexpected flood of so many emotions he couldn't hope to sort them all out in time to produce a real reaction. Above it all was the anger at himself for having so many strong feelings about his seeing his superior officer. He finally shook out of his frozen stare and turned back to the safe simplicity of his task, giving the tangled mass renewed effort.

Mustang looked at Hawkeye; she gave him a regretful shake of her head. So Ed was still having some sort of problem today. He'd already had a note on his desk from Armstong, saying that he wanted to talk to him about some concerns over Ed's 'condition'.

He approached and the stiffening of Ed's shoulders when he spoke his name caused the officer's lips to press tightly together in disappointment. It seemed rather like Ed was rejecting his attempt to interact; maybe he was upset because Mustang had left him alone yesterday without warning.

In retrospect, he probably should have warned him in person prior to leaving.

"Say, Ed, how was your day yesterday? I was out, you know, I had a field visitation to one of the outposts."

Ed nodded slightly but didn't react otherwise. His fingers picked at the mess and as he freed each piece, he snapped it down on the desktop, maybe just a hair too hard.

Hawkeye watched the exchange, and Ed's hands. He was doing what he had been told to do in a reasonable manner; it was a bit of a breakthrough, especially considering the way he appeared to be stressing. She'd have to call Schiezka and see if she'd noticed any improvement in Ed's reading ability. It hadn't been all that long ago that Ed was incapable of understanding the instructions for any task, period. It seemed that he had made some unobtrusive strides toward getting back to normal as far as practical skills were concerned.

When the Colonel's hand came to rest casually on his shoulder, Ed's sharp intake of breath was the only sound. The hand stayed put, testing.

"Don't do that. You don't have to," Ed mumbled, stiffening as he sat forward without looking back up.

"I know I don't have to. I just wanted…"

"Wanted?" Ed's voice strained with sarcasm.

"Ed, tell me what's bothering you. Let's not play games. You're obviously upset about something…or are you upset with me?"

Ed lowered his head even further, and the clips swam in his watery stare. He really didn't know what the hell was going on, and he knew he was upset, upset in so many ways about so many things. Was he angry at the Colonel? He wasn't sure how to decipher all that he was feeling, or how to stop feeling it if it didn't make sense. But the pressure to tell the man something he didn't know was pressure he could definitely do without.

"Don't touch me."

"Then look at me."

"No." Ed brushed at the offending hand but it stayed right there.

Mustang was sizing him up, and taking in Hawkeye's expression, which clearly voted for him to back off. The urge to dominate the boy and the situation was strong, and he almost gave in to it.

Instead, he took his hand away, figuring it was the move least likely to do harm, and sighed.

"We will talk, Edward. But I'd prefer that you come to me when you're ready to tell me what's bothering you. My door is open to you, any time you choose to knock on it." The dark-eyed man retreated to his office and closed the door quietly.

Ed still pulled and fumbled with the clips, no longer making any headway. Hawkeye left him alone for a few minutes, returning to her paperwork and watching out of the corner of her eye. Ed was swiping at his eyes now, and she was sure he would not want her to notice, so she pretended not to.

This was a child's task, and he was quite aware of that. He was also dismally aware that it almost beyond him. His concerns with the Colonel faded quickly after the man left, replaced by his effort to blot out distractions to his work. The lack of complexity in his task meant his mind could take advantage of the lull in conscious effort when the handwork became routine, and begin replaying scenes from his jumbled unreliable memory. Through the unpleasant images it would dawn on him that he was daydreaming and he'd focus on dragging his thoughts back to the present, and by then notice that his hands had fallen idle. He'd start over, concentrating again on this menial chore long enough for his hands to resume their work, and the cycle would start over again, starting and stopping until it had repeated many times and more than an hour had passed.

He found himself damp with sweat, and his progress was so minimal it was embarrassing. It had one desired effect, though. His state of agitation had passed, and that cold, hollow fear of ending up alone and abandoned had deadened considerably. His brain was weary and greatly subdued from the strain of trying over and over to both stabilize his behavior enough to appear normal and maintain focus on his work. He went to pull at another bundle of clips and they fell from his tiring flesh fingers. The automail hand reached out to retrieve the section he'd dropped and crushed the small devices into a permanent mass before he could edit the impulse. To hide his lack of control, he seized the metal wrist and pulled it into his lap under the desk, and it took the last of his concentration to quiet the mechanical limb again.

"Can I work on this later?" he asked in a low voice, no longer caring how pathetic his effort must have seemed to her. He knew what he wanted right now, and it was simply to go back to his room and shut out the world. As bleak as his mindset was, it was a blessing in its clarity. He was ready, willing and able to be alone again.

She had wondered how long he would be able to keep this up after the first fifteen minutes. His lack of response to any of her attempts at conversation as he worked, like when she asked about the medication he had been searching for, and if he was feeling sore after the fall, didn't seem to be willful. His body language spoke volumes instead; he was struggling in his own little world again, different than his old state of withdrawal, but seemingly just as helpless to break out of it. He had done quite well, in her eyes, just to sit on one place trying to stay with the effort.

"Sure, Ed, that's fine." She was going to ask to walk him back but when he pushed up out of the chair and steadied himself against the desk, he held up a hand.

"I promise to go straight to my room. You don't have to take me."

His voice sounded weary, so it seemed that there was not much risk of a repeat of this morning's wandering.

"I believe you. But I'd be happy to walk you if you need a hand."

"I don't." Ed stayed to the counter, and then the walls, until he loosened up enough to trust his balance. He made his way down the hall, a little noisy since the automail control was just a bit sloppy.

Mustang stepped out from his office and waited for Ed to turn the corner before commenting.

"Another odd mood," he observed.

"I'll say. He was looking at the pharmaceuticals in the supply room earlier. Colonel, do you have any idea if he was on medication before his hospitalization?"

"Before? Mm. I never really paid attention. The medicos would need to have it on record. Did you check his last active duty health declaration? He should have been reporting any prescriptions he was taking."

"Oh. Right! I'll dig out his records."

"Has he asked you about seeing his brother lately?"

Hawkeye frowned. "He hasn't mentioned him at all. Nothing. I haven't brought it up, of course."

"That's odd, too. A few days ago he was ready to take this place apart trying to resolve Alphonse's identity. Now, nothing."

"He's really got a lot going on up here," she said, tapping her temple.

"Get me Armstrong as soon as he comes back on duty, will you? I'm expecting a report from him."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll be back in a moment." The tall officer took a walk down to Ed's room, pausing unseen before reaching the doorway. From the movement he heard, Ed had indeed returned to his room, and from the subtle sounds of his weight shifting onto the cot frame, he was settling in for a rest. To avoid creating any disturbance, he turned just shy of exposing his presence in the doorway and went back the way he came. It would be best if Ed got some rest for a while. Perhaps he would get himself centered, and become a little easier to communicate with on some of the stickier subjects. In particular, the subject of his brother.

Ed heard the muted footsteps and rose from his perch on the edge of the bed to peer cautiously into the hall, just in time to see Mustang disappear around the corner. A bit of his tired pride felt the hit, watching this bit of proof that the Colonel had no real interest in talking with him…just doing his duty, seeing to it that he was behaving by going back where he belonged.

He turned back and sat heavily on the edge of the bed again, doing a dozen painful reps of one of the subtle upper body resistance exercises before he flopped down roughly and smacked his forearm across his eyes. _Alone is fine, alone is good_, he told himself with false conviction. _There are things far worse than being alone_, his mind echoed, brewing up images of Envy wrapped around him in an unwanted embrace to deliver cold threats in his ear, his reeking tongue squashing into the sensitive canal hard and sloppy and loud. The odor was being reproduced with gagging accuracy by his struggling brain. He began to pull his arm away; the deep scarring on his wrist was the first thing to come into focus as he opened his eyes wide to break from the flashing images of the past.

He knew things about this scar, the knowledge just sort of showed up on sight, as if he'd always known it as plainly as his own name. They had bound him with wire instead of rope at the very end, and he had worked frantically to get it to cut into this strategic spot deeply enough to bring it all to a close. He had been doing a good job of it, although the advanced tortures prevented him from concentrating for any length of time. His wrist had been a mangled mess, half-severed and beginning to pour enough blood to reach his goal when he suddenly stopped. He had changed his mind, decided that he couldn't allow himself to be so self-indulgent. That decision didn't entirely make sense now; the reasoning behind it escaped him. With the painful impressions he had of all that had passed, it was pretty amazing that he hadn't gone through with it.

Cowardice, he supposed, observing his arm as he held it suspended a foot from his eyes. He twisted it slowly, viewing the scars that decorated his wrist from all sides. He had been pretty close. He tried to decipher how he felt about it, whether he had made the right decision.

Probably not, he sighed inwardly. Seemed like he was the sort of person who was always starting out with big goals and falling short in a hail of excuses and vows to make it right later on.

Later never seemed to come.

He tried concentrating on the scars again, but his overwrought mind was all through playing now, and it was just ugly skin on his ugly wrist that meant he was even more of an unlovable, deformed freak. He let the arm drop across his chest and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. The vague urge to punish himself by calling up the associated memories had dissipated. Emptiness nestled heavily into his heart instead and he curled up into a ball and gave in to the blossoming headache, drifting slowly towards the mildly tense sleep of surrender despite the sun signaling high noon outside the glaring corridor.

The Colonel's voice startled him moments later, interrupting him before he could actually drop off into slumber. It was not quite enough to bring him into alertness. It still took a few shakes of his head to revive enough to realize he was being beckoned out of his room. He pushed his weariness aside and forced himself to rise in order to comply with the unexpected request, touched with relief and hopeful in spite of himself that Roy Mustang wanted to talk to him after all.

xxxxxxx

"Ungh, what …?" Al was still dizzy and feverish, but they wanted him awake now. They plied him with warm, clear broth and soda crackers, and he strained to find a comfortable position.

Back in the damned hospital - the last place he wanted to be. His slightly foggy mind gave him the outline of the event that put him here, but the nightmarish aspects were muted at first as he came awake in the bustling, bright hospital room and the softening of the medications.

When Havoc entered the room, for a split second the thought occurred to Al that he had been in on it somehow. Conveniently gone just when…

The tall blonde's warm smile dissolved all that in a second.

"Hey, kid, what happened?" Havoc said in an amused tone, as if it were a joke.

"You came!"

"Of course, I came. Had to see why you left me that mess in the barracks." When he crossed the room and touched the boy's hand, the intensity of the reaction surprised him. Al grabbed his arm with both hands.

"Are you going to stay for a while?"

"Sure, sure, a little while. Settle down now. I think you're supposed to be resting. I don't want to get thrown out." Havoc settled in the chair by the bed; Al showed no sign of letting go anytime soon.

"Is everything all right? How is Ed doing? Have you seen him?"

"I think you're the one we need to worry about right now. Just relax; Ed's fine."

"They said this infection is the same thing that he had."

"I heard that, too. Why do they think that is?"

"They're not sure…I told them what I thought, but they didn't listen. Did they tell you what happened? Did they tell you it was a rat? But I don't think that was a normal rat."

"Pretty obvious there. " He gave Al's white knuckles a series of gentle pats, but that grip didn't loosen.

"No, not like that. I don't think it was really a rat. I mean, it had these evil red eyes, and something about it…"

"Well, I'm not trying to dismiss what you're saying, but you do know that lots of rodents have red eyes. Rabbits, mice, rats…"

"I know that! I know! But not like this, nothing like this!"

"Okay. If you say so. Just…try to settle down a little. They set traps and put out poison, hopefully we'll get a good look at it and see." Damn, Havoc thought, Al was pretty wound up and intense considering they'd warned him that he was so doped up he might not be able to talk much. "You're safe here for now, though. If we can't catch it, maybe we'll see about alternative housing for you." That stream-of-consciousness idea left his mouth before his brain approved the content. It was too late to take it back.

"Really? I almost hope you don't catch it, then. I am grateful for the place to stay, but I'd really like it to be somewhere else." Al's worried, tired face lit up a little at the prospect.

Short of letting Al bunk in his semi-private quarters, Havoc didn't have the jurisdiction to make that kind of an offer. The Colonel was probably not going to be happy.

"Let's just see what happens." he smiled weakly.

It was great to see Havoc, especially since the lost, helpless feeling of being in the hospital's all-powerful clutches had a tendency to eat into his gut. Lying here surrounded by chipped white walls and little else to stare at but the medical trappings on his body, hopelessness had begun to set in again. Havoc's company was a warm contrast to that cold, sad mindset. He'd do just about anything to make him stay.

A slightly uncomfortable silence stretched just a little too long, and Al broke it nervously for fear that his visitor would leave.

"How was your trip?"

Havoc snorted a laugh, surprised by his question. "Just a field visitation. Okay, I guess. "

"Oh."

"You haven't told me how you feel. Are you in any pain?"

"No, I just don't feel very good. They give me something for pain so I don't feel it. But…" Al's speech cut off abruptly with a grimace.

Havoc leaned forward in the chair, trying to see Al's averted face. Before he could ask anything, Al spoke again.

"Is Ed ever going to be ready to see me?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden change of topic, Havoc answered honestly. "Ed's still not doing as well as we'd hoped. He doesn't seem to be getting better at a predictable rate; your guess is as good as mine as far when he'll be better. I only know that right now, he's just not stable enough."

"So, maybe never."

"No, now that's not true. But it might be a while. I guess that would feel like forever to you, and I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."

"I get it." Al appreciated the warm hand Havoc placed on his forearm to give it a reassuring squeeze. At the same time he bitterly regret being able to feel it. He wanted things to be the way they were, to be back in the armor and partners with Ed. If there was an upside to all of this, he was not in the right frame of mind to find it. The high internal pressure he'd been feeling since his visitor arrived just let go. He slowly pulled his arms back and folded them across his stomach, gazing dully at his own hands. They really weren't in any hurry to find a way to help him get back together with Ed. Havoc probably came here out of guilt or pity or some such reason. It dampened his spirits considerably.

Silence filled the room again. Havoc searched his mind fruitlessly for small talk, and Al had given up on his attempt to do the same.

"Do you want to tell me what happened while I was gone? I mean, exactly what happened?" Havoc asked quietly. The subject was the 10,000 pound gorilla in the room, after all.

Al looked up, and the expression was so sad it actually hurt to look at him. "Why? They told already you, didn't they?"

"It's not the same. I'd like to hear it from you. The details and your first-hand impressions, you know? So I get a feel for what really went down."

"Sure. I guess."

As the boy's gaze grew distant, he began recounting the events from the first glimpse of the rat as it was sinking his teeth into his big toe.

By the time he finished his story, Havoc was inclined to agree with him, if his story was accurate. The beast could have been some sort of chimera, something related to the homunculus. There had been a handful of reports lately involving suspected activity by the accursed beings. The rare infection that matched Ed's seemed to be further evidence.

"I believe you, Alphonse. You've given me a lot more to go on than they had in the medical reports. I'll take this information to the Colonel right away."

Al felt a little better getting all that off his chest. It wasn't like the frustrating efforts dealing with the medical staff, trying to get someone to really listen to what he was saying up until now. They were patronizing and stopped listening as soon as he tried to explain what was unnatural about his attacker. At least now someone halfway understood and believed him.

"I hate to go already, but this information really needs to get to Colonel Mustang." Havoc rose and shook his head with a grimace. "I wish I had something to say that would make it better."

"Tell the docs I'm not crazy like...like Ed. That would help. They have some shrink coming in to see me later this afternoon. It's stupid." Al said.

"Hey, nothing wrong with getting everything examined, your head included. Cooperate with him, Alphonse. Maybe he'll have some advice on how we can approach Ed."

Al frowned deeply and re-folded his arms indignantly. He'd expected Havoc to back him up on this.

"Hey. I gotta run. I'll be back later. At least you're safe here for now, okay?"

"Sure," Al said in a reluctant breath. He watched Havoc go out the door into the world and closed his eyes when the door fell shut, wondering what the psychologist was going to put him through now.

xxxxxxxxx

"Ah, Colonel?"

"Major Armstrong, excellent. I do appreciate your offer to report in early. Come on in, and close the door. You had something to discuss about your watch?"

"Yes, sir, I was rather anxious to speak with you. It's regarding Fullmetal - er, Edward. He seems to be in a severe state of physical decline. I wondered if you were aware of it."

"Well, we know he's been weak, he gets ill easily and his immune system is compromised. He damn near doesn't eat; hell, he hardly even drinks water - we have to stay on him about that, as I'm sure I mentioned to you in my instructions for the time while we were away. Is there something else?" Mustang sat back and pressed his fingertips together reflectively. "Have a seat, Major."

"Thank you, sir. Yes, it's a bit more than that. From my interactions with the lad, I noticed his difficulty in balancing and moving about, and I took the liberty of observing him in the shower. He's quite lame and the points where his prosthesis meet with his body are deteriorating rather alarmingly. To be blunt, in my opinion, I think our level of care borders on neglect at this point."

"Really." Mustang furrowed his brow and sat forward.

"We discussed it, and apparently he has a certain regimen of calisthenics, stretching and resistance exercises that he needs to do daily in order for his body to support the tremendous weight and forces of the automail. He hasn't done them in as long as he can remember, and it's finally reached the point where he can barely maintain."

"He used to get physical therapy while he was at the psych unit to cope with his recovery from the surgeries. His injuries were pretty debilitating, and for a while after they released him to stay here he was still going back three times a week. You're right about his maintenance since he finished the therapy; there weren't any aftercare instructions, and I don't remember ever seeing him doing any exercises or the like since then. We're talking…I don't know, months. Four or five at least since he finished the last sessions. And I really don't know how much that therapy addressed the automail. I'd have to check."

"That sounds about right. I think the severity of his condition indicates that this has been going on a long time. He's close to the point where he can no longer use those devices. If you want my opinion, sir, I think that would be rather devastating for him."

"No doubt. He's aware of this?"

"Quite. He did show me the resistance moves and the stretching routine so that I can help him to remember to do them. He said he forgets, and he was afraid of forgetting again. He explained the heavier calisthenics, but he's far too weak to do them. He would likely injure himself if he tried."

"Hm. Major, did he mention needing medicine for this? He seemed to be looking for pills to take, but we couldn't figure out what, exactly."

"He wasn't seeking anything as far as I know; in fact, I offered him pain medication. He refused it, and that was another thing I thought I'd mention. He still seems to be a bit self-destructive. It's a strange paradox - he's fighting to keep from getting in any worse condition, and yet he still seems to want to punish himself by refusing to take anything to ease his pain. But then, he did let me help him otherwise, and he was most cooperative. He went from being totally suspicious to being far too trusting in a very short span of time."

Mustang shook his head, tapping the desk in frustrated thought. "It's really hard to know what to do for him."

"I, for one, can assist him with his fitness. I offered, and he accepted. If that's all right with you. Even when I'm on other assignments, I don't mind coming by to make sure he's taking care of himself."

"One can't help but to feel sorry for him."

"So true. Ed's a good soul. I would very much like to help him, above and beyond."

Mustang nodded. "It's a good start. Something positive to put into his daily routine, another friendly face. I certainly appreciate it as well. Now, tell me something else, Major. Did he happen to mention his brother at all?"

"No, sir. Now that you ask - not even once."

"That just blows me away. It was his whole focus, then nothing?" He slapped his pen down on the desktop, freeing his hands to rest against his chin. "I was planning on riding along with that motivation, using the strength of it to help us through any rough spots with their next re-introduction. Now I'm not quite sure what to do. Maybe it's a sign we should hold off a little longer."

"Edward hasn't given up, Colonel. He's in substantial pain, he's quite alone and so very confused in his thinking, but he is still in there trying like Hades to get himself upright again. It might be that backing off on this reunion is a bit of self-preservation rearing its head. The stress of trying to deal with his brother's condition might be more than he can handle at the moment."

The Colonel and Armstrong both looked up as a knock sounded at the door.

Hawkeye was escorting Havoc in. "Colonel, I think you'll want to hear Havoc's latest information right away."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "All right. I think we were about finished here, Major? We were discussing how Edward coped in our absence."

"I think so, sir. So, resolved that I will be assisting Edward with those issues?"

"Yes, Major. Dismissed."

"Hey, Major," Havoc gestured with his chin. "Keep a close eye out, will ya? Watch for anyone or anything odd hanging around, including small animals. Alphonse was attacked by a rat out in the old barracks. Might not be an isolated incident before we're through."

"Indeed?"

"Major Armstrong is going to be working with Edward daily. Is this something he should hear?"

"Maybe. If this was more than just some crazed critter, then we have a security issue, and it's already involved one of the boys."

"Have a seat again, Major. Let's hear it, Havoc. Hawkeye, put the phone on hold and sit in, too."

Havoc related the story and it was followed by a round of head-shaking and concern. It was too hard for any of them to say one way or the other if it was the stress-fueled impressions of an abused boy or the cold facts about a creature sent by the enemy to infiltrate their ranks.

"It doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense. It amounts to sending a warning that they're here without accomplishing anything. In the past, they've been a lot more clever than that." Mustang frowned. "And yet…"

"Yeah, the attack part is totally their M.O., though. Purely heartless, playing on natural aversions and fears. But there is usually some discernible motive. Other than terrorizing Alphonse, I don't see one," Havoc said.

"Maybe it's to frighten Edward?" Hawkeye ventured. "Or to call him out into a confrontation? If they know it's Alphonse, they would probably know something of Ed's condition as well. After all, they caused it."

"More questions than answers. The thing is, even the doctors are at a loss to understand the infection. They've discovered a scattershot method of addressing it, but they never figured out what the origins are. Now here it is again, and I think that if you take everything else aside, the infection is a strong indicator that the attacks have a common source. I don't buy that theory about the boys harboring it themselves. If that were the case, Ed would never have survived the injuries that took his arm and leg, and surely he would have evidenced the infection in one of the injuries he received when he first joined up." Mustang leaned back in the chair. "We need to be on alert. Someone needs to be watching Alphonse at all times, and I don't mean just the hospital staff. One of us needs to be with them anytime they leave the main building. We should have sufficient measures in place for them to be secure here. The problem with that is, it will put them too close together, and I don't think Edward is up to it. He needs a chance to settle down right now. He's been pretty erratic."

"I don't think Al's ready to be released, so it's not the problem just yet. For now he's stuck in the infirmary. So I guess you want us to take shifts watching him there?" Havoc asked.

"Exactly. I realize it might make him nervous, but I think we have to consider his safety first, and we have a vested interest in capturing the culprit. You're obviously my first choice to oversee Alphonse, Havoc. He seemed to take to you pretty well; he was just a little reluctant at first." Their commander's dark eyes narrowed. "We do need to take this very seriously."

"And we won't say anything to Edward, right?" Havoc asked; Armstrong was already shaking his head in expectation of the answer.

"Absolutely not. Not a word of this. This is the last thing he needs; I can't imagine how he would even begin to cope with it. We should downplay it to Alphonse as well. Neither of them would benefit from an increased state of alert. They can't defend themselves, so it's up to us to watch out for them. For the next forty-eight hours, commencing from when we break from this meeting, both Elrics are to be in view of one of us at all times. I'll pull in Fuery, Breda and Falman on this, too. Between the all of us, we shouldn't have a problem. After that time, we'll re-evaluate the situation."

"And once they release Alphonse?"

"I'll think of something. I can put Edward up at my place for a short time if need be, depending on how well he handles it. Or Al could bunk in down in your section, Havoc. Until further notice, I don't want either of you out in the old barracks, that's for sure. We're just talking about secure quarters for two boys, it should not be that big of an issue. We'll work something out."

Well, Havoc thought, at least now he didn't have to admit to the offer he made to Al.

"Shall I go look in on Edward?"

"Good idea, Major. He's been agitated today, not uncontrollably, but…he just seems really uncomfortable and distracted. Maybe he could use a good workout, within whatever limits you think are appropriate."

"And I should get back to Al," Havoc said.

"Right. You two take the first watch. Keep it low key. If they get curious, just tell them things are slow around here and you're killing time until your tour of duty is over."

"I'd like a turn with Ed, Colonel. I could do a double and take his night shift. I don't mind bunking with him, and he seemed to be all right with it before. It's been a while since I've seen him, if he's noticed it could be bothering him some."

"That's fine, Havoc. Makes it easier for today. When I send someone to relieve you from Alphonse you can go down and relieve the Major. Dismissed."

The two men departed for their duty stations, and Hawkeye closed the door for a moment's privacy.

"The sanitation team in the barracks turned up nothing at all so far. No rat droppings, no signs of nesting activity, and no actual rodents. They roused a couple of small spiders, a few silverfish in a box with old ledgers in it, and an earwig up behind one of the sink drainpipes. Sounds like they've been very thorough." If Mustang reacted to that news, she couldn't detect it. "So it might support Al's impression that this was something other than what it appeared to be."

Mustang shook his head. "Yeah. Not what I was hoping. If they're still targeting Al and Ed, we've got to do some serious thinking, and fast. We haven't come up with a silver bullet to use against them. And every time they get past our defenses, whether they manage to inflict any injury or not, it's going to be devastating. Ed won't be able to take it. Al's not much better off."

"Oh, and Colonel?" Hawkeye bit her lip, regretting that she had to add to his already full plate. "A communiqué came through just a few minutes before your meeting. Fuhrer Bradley and Alchemist Kimblee are touring the districts; they are going to be passing through the area, and they want to meet with you briefly tomorrow. They figure on arriving sometime around noon."

"Perfect lousy timing. Did they say how long of a visit?"

"Just dropping by on their way through the area. No specific timeframe."

"Damn. I hope they keep moving. We don't need any more complications right now."

"At least the Fuhrer is aware of Edward's residence here. We did put through the official paperwork. His office approved it."

"That's good and that's bad, I guess," Mustang sighed. "I would have preferred to conceal it, but since we're on the up-and-up, at least I don't have to worry about Ed being found out. I have my misgivings about telling Bradley anything else. Damn it. He's going to have to be told that we found Alphonse. We need to instruct the men to be discreet about their watch and the rat thing. His only other source would be the medical staff; they're a bit out of my hands as far as that goes. If he talks to them too much, it'll look like I'm hiding something."

"Al's story sounds crazy. Ed doesn't know about it. So, if it comes up…" she smiled slightly.

"I know. Deny, deny, deny. We could say the boys have been a bit combative, and that's the reason for the watch on them."

"Well, and remember, the med staff really doesn't believe Alphonse anyway."

"True. It probably won't be all that bad, then, even if they do talk. Thank you, Lieutenant, for walking me through that thought process. Maybe we will be able to keep things under control while they're here. It's best for everyone if we can keep our issues with the boys to ourselves."

"Of course, sir. I'd better take the phones off hold and check for messages."

xxxxxxxx

Not far away, frowning in dismay, Armstrong stepped into Edward's sleeping room to find it as empty as the surrounding hallways.

_tbc_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"Ed. Get up. Come with me for a minute."

Startled from near-sleep, Ed's head popped up unsteadily. The image that swam into his vision was that of Colonel Mustang, motioning impatiently from the doorless entryway for him to follow.

It confused him for a moment, and he blinked hard just to be sure. Minutes ago, Mustang had walked away rather than talk to him - or so he thought - and he'd actually experience hurt feelings over it . Enough to have some very depressing thoughts about himself afterward. Maybe he'd jumped to conclusions, maybe the Colonel had just remembered something else he had to do first. He felt a moment of groggy embarrassment at the way he focused so intensely on every little bit of the man's behavior when they interacted. It had caused him to fall into such a mess of emotions on so little provocation. In spite of that realization, he couldn't help feeling warmed by the return of this attention that he had thought that he'd lost. He had been feeling lonely and empty without Mustang's company, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"Hurry up, Elric, let's go. Come on!"

Ed forced himself to sit up and swung his legs unsteadily over the side of the bed, glad he hadn't decided to undress. His socks slipped on the floor a bit as he pushed up to stand. Once on his feet, he steadied himself so he'd be ready go, willingly waiting for the Colonel to lead the way. They were probably going back to his office for a private talk, to get the discord settled between them. Ed was more than ready to behave now, he'd do whatever he was supposed to; he was even willing to say he was sorry for being so unfriendly earlier.

"Get ready to go out. Didn't you hear me?"

Ed spread his hands out upturned to indicate his confusion. He was up and dressed, what else was he supposed to be doing? He watched the Colonel's dark eyes impatiently scan the floor, and saw that the look in them wasn't all that friendly right now.

"No shoes? Seriously? Ah, never mind, if that's how you want it. Come on, now, hup-trup! One-two, one-two, this way, make it snappy!" He spun on his heel and walked briskly away.

There was no real time to think it through, had Mustang really forgotten it was his annoying order to take his shoes away? Or was he trying to be funny? The attention didn't feel so comforting now. Ed stumbled after the familiar broad, blue-clad back as it hustled down the side hall and turned down an intersecting corridor he wasn't familiar with. "Where are we going, what..?"

"Shush now, pay attention and move it." Mustang took long, parade-sharp strides, his posture pompously straight and tall. The pace truly was past Ed's limit, trying and failing to keep up already.

Ed nearly caught up when the Colonel reached the end of the long corridor, dimly lit by the flickering fluorescent bulbs; but it was only because the officer had come to a stop when he reached the unfamiliar, slightly battered door. The impatient man paused only for a few beats before shoving it open and heading out into the bright sunlight, just letting the door go, unconcerned that its tension hinge swung it back hard to close automatically behind him.

It nearly slammed in Ed's face, and he awkwardly braced against the force of the heavy door swinging into him. It rocked him back but he managed to stop it just shy of latching, bracing before he gathered enough strength and balance to push it back open in order to follow. He tripped on the raised threshold in his haste, banging against the edge of the door as it tried to close on him again, and rankled at the unkind laugh when he went down on a metal knee and floundered on the cold cement outside.

"Get your lazy ass up, come on!" was the order that followed the bark of laughter, an irritable edge in the curt command. That order had been given on the fly; the man was a blue blur as Ed blinked furiously to clear his watering eyes, smarting from the sudden intense light. The officer hadn't stopped or slowed. Already, that blur had left the pavement to cross the strip of grass and was swiftly approaching a tall hedge that lined the far side of the lawn.

Ed clumsily regained his feet, suddenly aware of a foul smell nearby. The blinding daylight forced him to squint to make sense of the large shapes to his left, and when his vision cleared enough he discovered that the smell was coming from the dumpsters lined up by the door they had exited through. No wonder he hadn't been this way before.

This was aggravating his muscles. already aching from the newly resumed exercises and the nasty fall he'd taken earlier. He'd exerted himself more this morning than he had in a long time, and he was still feeling worn out. But Mustang wasn't even calling to him now, just leaving him behind. Confusion and a flash of urgency pressed Edward back into motion when he realized the Colonel had pushed through the hedgerow and kept going; he could barely be seen the color of his clothes past the heavy foliage.

He staggered before getting his stride again, trying to guess why he was being treated so thoughtlessly. What was this, some sort of comeuppance for refusing to speak to the big bully earlier? He was getting a touch pissed off from the frustration of not being able to move quickly enough, and resentful that the bastard refused to take notice and at least give him half a chance. They were supposed to be patching things up, not playing some game to flaunt how much weaker and slower Ed was.

Because he was angered and getting ready to vent, his energy level picked up considerably. By the time he cleared the pavement of the service patio and started across the lawn, Ed was more alert and moving a little faster. There was no obvious opening so he assumed he was following suit when he used his shoulder to go crashing through the thick of the greenery. It was harder to get through than it looked. The branches stabbed and caught at him in resistance, and emerging on the other side meant having to go down roughly again, this time on hands and knees, before regaining his balance.

"Come on, grace, get up and move!" Mustang chided from a fair distance away, walking backwards for a few strides with a smug smile, still not really slowing long enough to let him catch up.

"Son of a bitch!" Ed panted under his breath, but left off any further comment to save his breath. The man had turned to face forward once more and was rapidly outdistancing him again into the stand of trees and beyond. He saw that the sock had come off his automail foot, and he dismissed the idea of wasting time retrieving it from the hedge's spiny clutches. Its only function was to muffle the sound of metal on linoleum anyway, and out here, it was just a hindrance.

It was hard to keep going, much less catch up, and before long he was feeling a touch of panic. He had been caught off-guard and hurried when they left the building, and a little angry and annoyed by the time they went out the door. It had distracted him from the significance of leaving that relative safety . But the further into the open they ventured, the thinner his bravery became. By the time the building was out of sight behind the hedge, Ed was desperately in need of the reassurance of Mustang's presence, and he drove himself recklessly to keep up. It finally dawned on him that truly he had no idea where they were going or why, adding to his distress immeasurably.

In a relatively short period of time they had gone well beyond the boundaries of the compound, into the outskirts of the wooded area, verging on someplace that seemed familiar in a very unpleasant way. Ed was short of breath already, adding to the tension in his chest as they moved deeper into the unknown.

The shadows twined under the heavier branches seemed to be reaching out over his head to trap him, and he had to work twice as hard to follow the Colonel due to the distraction. He clumsily dodged the branches that were threatening and the added effort made his journey even harder. There was no sign of the man slowing up, and he was already worried that he might not be able to keep going much longer. On and on they traveled, threading through the wild growth, with no end in sight. They passed through several stands of trees, each more dense than the last, and it as the ingenuity born of desperation that reminded Ed to follow the shoeprints when it seemed he'd lost the Colonel altogether and his self-control threatened to desert him.

This was buried in his memory somewhere, a place just like this, and when it tried to go beyond déjà vu to emerge in his conscious thought he pushed it away frantically, afraid of losing control. Mustang kept getting completely out of sight, his side was stitching in pain and he wasn't sure what was happening anymore. His bad habit of refusing to eat or drink was compounding his problems now, because dehydration was already adding to his woes, cracking his battered lips and squeezing his windpipe.

He was trapped now, out here cut off from safety, and his monumental effort to keep from panicking was not going to hold up much longer. If this was a game, he was ready to admit defeat to call an end to it. If this was a dream, he needed to wake up now.

He staggered into the open at the next small clearing straining to get enough breath, making the extra effort to step out just beyond the ominous reach of the trees into filtered sunlight. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was still going in the right direction, and he was starting to think that it didn't matter. This was as far as he could go, he had been pushed past any reasonable limit halfway here. But, suddenly, Mustang was close again, reappearing in the shadows from behind a tree just a few yards away.

"Halt right there, soldier-boy," Mustang chuckled. He was fully composed, no worse for their long trek than he had been when they started. "Now, I suppose you're all wondering why I brought you here today…"

Ed's eyes darted around. All? No, it was just the two of them. The Colonel's smug tone seemed to be mocking him. He was still struggling to get his questions into words when the man's next move interrupted his train of thought.

Mustang made a show of it as he set a green-veined chunk of stone on the ground a few strides in front of his mismatched, muddied feet and then stepped back.

"Transmute that, kid. Make me a…um…oh! I've got it! A copper bowl! Like the one in the horror story. Oh man, that must the greatest story ever written - if only I had Captain Eliot in my regiment, I'd have him writing night and day. Have you read it? 'The Copper Bowl'?" Mustang snapped his fingers and laughed at that as soon as he said it, as if he had surprised himself with his own wit. "And it was a rat, that's right, that story had a rat in it. It's like that great circle of life, the way everything relates. What a rush. It's beyond brilliant."

Ed's mind floundered with it all. He was close to hyperventilating as his over-stressed body struggled to keep him conscious and on his feet. He didn't know the story and the reference to rats was meaningless to him, so he didn't follow much more than the command to produce the bowl. A full minute passed before his breathing slowed enough to allow for speech.

"Transmute…transmutation?" Ed panted numbly. "But you said no. No alchemy. You said no."

"Well, fuck that, I'm saying yes now, and you damn well better do it! Just follow orders, you little shit. Do it right now, or I'll take you the rest of the way out into the backwoods and dump you out there all alone! I'll tie you to a tree, knock you out, and let the fucking wolves rape your candy ass! Now do it!"

Ed stared hard trying to understand; for all of his angry talk, Mustang was grinning like a lunatic. It was like he was hallucinating the words. Or the face. Or worse…both. The most pressing reality was the fear of being outside, exhausted, lost and unprotected, and that fear clouded his thinking. No matter how strangely he was behaving, he wanted this to be the Colonel anyway. If Mustang was a figment of his imagination, then that would mean that he was lost out here all alone. The thought made him want to scream for help.

Ed started to rub his face hard, to try and get some hold on what was really happening. Mustang was there. He had to be. He was too far away from the base to be heard if he yelled and he was afraid to move on his own even if he could manage to find the energy, certain that he would go in the wrong direction and get lost even further away. A splatter of dirt hit his mud-smeared pant leg as Mustang kicked it at him to get his attention.

"Get to it. By ten, or your ass is going to be out in the woods all alone tonight. One…two…"

Ed lunged forward and dropped down quickly, landing unsteadily on all fours in front of the rock. He had to push up to get balanced on his knees and pressed his hands together for a moment to prepare. "I will! Just don't…don't leave without me!"

He clapped his hand, and saw with relief that his desperation had not interfered with his concentration. "Copper…bowl," he choked the words to himself, identifying the polished, perfect item as it materialized.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, baby!" Mustang laughed wildly, whipping a victorious fist up into the air.

The strange behavior was chilling, adding an element of surrealism to the moment. Things were getting worse, not better. The situation was becoming even more frightening. No matter how hard he tried, Ed was unable to tell where his break with reality was coming from.

Mustang's eyes narrowed, and his smile was as cold and hard as his voice when he looked back down. "Good boy. Now, sit boy. Sit down on your ass and don't move. Do it."

Ed dropped back onto his butt to sit in instant compliance, knees drawn to his chest. He ground his hands into his eyes a few times, but when he looked again nothing had changed. The dampness was already seeping through the seat of his pants, the legs of which were muddy and wet. He shivered and hugged his legs for warmth while the officer snatched up the bowl. Maybe now, the strangeness would stop, and they could go back now, and have that talk. In the office, where it was safe and dry, inside, with no windows. If it kept hurting this much, he could rest on the couch, and there might be a blanket to wrap up in. But if there wasn't, it would still be okay, as long as they went back now. He would go back and do whatever the Colonel wanted. He would crawl to get back if he had to. This was not a good place to be at all.

Mustang started to circle him slowly while inspecting the newly-formed object, paying attention to it and none to the huddled figure responsible for producing it. After coming full circle he paused, straightened his path and then seemed to be leaving, passing by Ed's side just inches away.

Ed caught the subtle change in motion and his eyes flew wide. The impression had to be wrong, he could not have pissed the Colonel off enough that he would ditch him out here in the middle of nowhere. Under far too much pressure to just sit there, Ed's flesh arm darted out impulsively and snagged the bright blue pant leg to prevent him from leaving. It didn't stop him; he kept moving, nearly toppling Ed over backwards when he didn't let go. The next reward for his disobedience came in the form of a forceful blow to his shoulder blade that knocked a lungful of air out of him and stung deeply. He jerked his hand back then, startled by the burning pain and stunned that the Colonel would strike him.

He refused to believe that the dampness growing on his back was blood. It had to be sweat. The Colonel didn't bring him out here to…to get him alone to do bad things, to hurt him, or…the possibilities started to multiply in his imagination. He seemed to mean it, he seemed to be serious about leaving him out here alone after all.

"Did I say you could touch me? I said sit stay, Ed-dog!" roared the dark-eyed officer in seething anger. "Do not move, starting now!"

Frozen in shock, Ed was trying desperately to excuse away the freaky behavior and the blow to his shoulder. He listened to the hard, sharp breathing of anger, following the sound to determine that Mustang was still behind him, towering and furious. His heart was pounding in concert with the pressure behind his eyes and in his ears, and the time it took for the Colonel's breathing to quiet down felt like a lifetime.

Mustang was silent until he had regained his composure. Icy and full of disdain, his voice startled Ed when he spoke again. "I'll give you one chance to redeem yourself in spite of that insubordination. If you hold completely still…and I mean, don't move a muscle…until I tell you to, then I'll let you come back inside. You move as far as a gnat's eyelash, and you stay outside the grounds until tomorrow at least. Got it? Now. You wait right here and don't try to follow me."

The ground was hard, and when the exhausted alchemist started to concentrate on following that order, the first thing his body tried to do was sway. Terrified at the idea of being left out here alone overnight, Ed tensed up and tried desperately to hold still. He didn't want to be left alone here now in the daylight, either. It was almost impossible to resist grabbing for the strong, tall officer again, despite the consequences, to prevent him from leaving.

"But I can't…" he started to plead.

"No," the dark-haired man said in a reproachful tone. He was standing directly in front of Ed again, looking down on him, frowning. His subordinate wasn't looking up anymore, his gaze fixed blindly straight ahead.

"No talking either. Shut the fuck up. I'll be checking up on you, so do what you've been told. Just 'cause you're useless in no excuse to be disobedient. Follow your orders." He turned the bowl in his hands one last time, examining it closely, spitting on and then rubbing it to check the surface for any changes or weak spots. It was indeed perfect. He threw it down carelessly in front of the cowering blond. It dented when it hit the ground on its rim, flying back up to hit Ed in the chin on the rebound before clattering away to spin to a halt.

"I'll be back later." After striding past Ed's side, purposely close to tempt him to reach out again, he stopped just behind him and paused. The shoulder blade area of Ed's gray t-shirt was blotted with blood. Had he done that? Careless, careless, he chided himself. It was an instinctive reaction at being grabbed, but he shouldn't have made such an obvious error. This could be the evidence the boy would need to make his story believable. He look around and snatched up a dry splintered chunk of redwood from among the many littering the forest floor and broke off a small, sharp shard. As he approached again from behind, he found it amusingly obvious from the stiff posture that Ed was on high alert, listening to his every move and no doubt wondering what he was up to. He placed the tip of the large splintered fragment in the slight tear in the cotton and jabbed it down into the center of the small wound, working to angle it into the existing opening and embedding it fully. He generously allowed Ed his jerking reaction and abruptly suppressed yelp at the pain without comment. That would have to be good enough; he needed to frame the wound as something other than what it was. Now it would look like the result of an unluckily landing during one of his falls instead of a suspicious puncture wound.

Edward's cowering form looked painfully stressed and he was truly distraught now. It was a rush to see him this way again. It was almost like the day when he had been prepped and ready to go for the final rounds of the interrogation that drove him mad. Of course, it wasn't truly the same; back then, there'd been much more leading up to this point; torture of a lesser degree, a lengthy preparatory attack and a whole lot of mind-fucking. In spite of all that, there had been plenty of fight left and he'd still had all of his wits back then, unlike now. As tempting as it was to go ahead and tip him back off the edge of the world and into outer space, it was disappointing to see that Ed was nearly back at the breaking point already, because the fun was in the process, not the result. A mere moment's pleasure, reveling in the power to shatter the human mind, was simply not enough. It was certainly no challenge at this point and definitely not worth risking the master plan over.

The cowering soul practically telegraphed his terror of being left here alone, and that lovely image would have to do for now. He had made his humane concession by telling Ed that he'd come back for him. It should give him enough hope to keep him from breaking completely for however long he stayed out here alone, waiting for him to return.

Or rather, Envy thought, waiting for the others that would come later to fetch the half-wit when they figured out he was missing. It would be easy enough to find him if they had half a brain; he'd noticed what a clear trail the clumsy, lumbering automail user had left in his wake.

As enjoyable as it was to watch the fruits of his manipulations so far, it was time to go. It wouldn't be wise to get caught in the act. Ed was crazy, this was crazy sounding shit, and no one would be the wiser as long as no one saw the phantom Colonel that led him here. He'd talk about what happened, and they'd probably nod sympathetically, believe not a word of it, and chain his psycho ass to the bed so he couldn't run off again.

There was a small doubt as to whether this would play out as planned. Someone hauling out equipment for working on the landscaping had shown up as they were leaving the grounds. Envy couldn't be sure if he'd been seen or not, but he was pretty sure the guy couldn't have missed Ed's performance crashing through the hedge. It would be unwise to assume that the foot soldier doing the gardening was only concerned about the plants and not at least noticing the breach of security of the perimeter. To err on the side of caution, he'd best make himself scarce now in case the cavalry was close behind.

The result of this experiment was important. He now had proof that Edward was easy to manipulate and perfectly capable of grade-A alchemy on command just the way he was now. He didn't need to get any better. As a matter of fact, it seemed best if he were to stay at precisely this stage of mental illness, if at all possible. It was perfect.

"Remember, keep your ass still if you don't want to do karaoke with the coyotes tonight," he said with a grin and disappeared into the shadows once more.

"If you move, I'll know," was his last, barely audible comment, fading into the distance.

Ed couldn't quite suppress a whimper at that. His mind flew in a hundred directions, relieved that Mustang wasn't going to just start beating on him, agonized that he was being left, and afraid both of what the Colonel's return might bring, and that he might not return at all. Wake up, wake up, he chanted in his head, frozen in place. The best hope he had left to cling to was that this was just an awful dream.

xxxxxxx

"Ed's not in his quarters," the Major bellowed, his voice entering Mustang's office several strides before the rest of him even made it to the door to knock.

Hawkeye rose swiftly to throw the door open and just missing colliding with the Colonel, already up from his desk and charging out in response.

"You checked…?" he started.

"The room, the hall, the bathroom, no sign," Armstrong barked as they piled back into the hallway and headed double-time in the direction of Ed's room. Fanning out and combing every room, hall and niche, the search of the building was completed in record time.

Ed was nowhere to be found.

Mustang and Fuery took the immediate grounds, Armstrong headed for the barracks, and Hawkeye and Breda made a careful search of the infirmary on the chance that Ed had somehow heard of his brother's hospitalization. When they reached Al's room, Hawkeye called Havoc out into the hallway to make sure he hadn't seen or heard anything.

"He was gone this morning when I went to see him. That was hours ago. When was the last time anyone saw him?"

"No, no, he hasn't been missing that long. He was with me in my office, not all that long before we lost track of him."

"Then he's gotta be around here somewhere. I'd be inclined to think he's somewhere right near his room. I can't believe he'd take off just like that." Havoc's brow furrowed. "Unless he was chased or something. What if that rat went after him? He might…"

"I don't think so. He would have been yelling bloody murder if that had happened, and we heard nothing. My first thought was that he heard Al was hurt and went looking for him; we haven't covered the whole building yet, he still might be around here somewhere. Look, just keep your eyes open. We're searching all over, but anything's possible. He may have doubled back to someplace we've already looked; maybe we just missed him. I hope."

Havoc nodded, wishing he could help; between the two of them his frustration at not being able to join in the search was well understood.

"Al has a session with a psychologist in about an hour. I'll be posted outside the door then, but if you call into the room I'll make sure they know to come get me. Let me know when you find him."

Hawkeye nodded and motioned to Breda; they took off a trot for the rear of the infirmary to check the housekeeping area and the service entrance.

Havoc watched them leave, anxiously wishing he could join them in the search as they reached the end of the hallway and disappeared around the corner. He took a long, deep breath before he went back into Al's room, pasting on a smile so that the younger Elric would remain none the wiser.

Al looked up and sighed in relief. The way Havoc had charged out of the room, he figured there was some duty he was being called away for. Still, his smile looked forced, if Al wasn't imagining things.

"Is everything all right?"

"Sure, everything's just fine. Just a little confusion over assignments."

"I didn't get you in trouble by making you visit me for so long, did I?" Al asked with a worried frown.

"No, nothing like that." Havoc stepped back from his frustration to consider how much harder this would be for Al if he knew. The subject of seeing Ed had come up no less than three times during their visit already. Each time, it had been Al that brought up the subject, but reluctantly, as if he tried but couldn't stop himself from talking about it. And each time, when it rather obviously began to get too painful, it was Al that changed the subject to something else.

Al was fidgety in anticipation of the doctor's visit. Havoc didn't blame him, but couldn't very well voice that sentiment. He was all good cheer and encouragement where the subject of therapy was concerned, hoping to have a positive influence on Al's cooperation.

"You still haven't told me why Ed isn't seeing this guy, too," Al said, a little pouty.

"Yes, I did. I told you, Ed spent months in full-time care at the behavioral unit. I'm not saying that he won't ever see this doctor; I'm just saying that his care has been different. I'd guess that they don't think he's well enough for it to do him any good right now. I mean, you've seen enough of him to know that he's still not very conversational yet."

"Yeah. I guess." Al was looking sad again. No doubt he was thinking back on how poorly their meetings had gone to date. "He doesn't even talk to you?"

Havoc grimaced inwardly. "I have to admit, it's been almost as long since I've talked to him last as when you did. Don't get me wrong, I check up on how he's doing. It's just that my assignments have been taking up my time."

"Go see him now," Al urged. "Go see him and tell me what he says. Please? It's the closest I can get to visiting him myself."

"He's working with Major Armstrong right now," Havoc said, mentally crossing his fingers. "Can't really interrupt."

"Doing what?"

Havoc was winging his half-truths hard. It was for Al's own good, but he still didn't like deceiving him like this. "Physical therapy, kind of. We found out that his automail requires that he exercise, and he hasn't…"

Al's eyes grew wide at that. "No one's been making sure that he does his routines?" he blurted in alarm. Of course not, how could they know? But then, how could Ed even begin to keep moving after all this time?

"We are now."

"I need to talk to the Major. There's so much he needs to know if he's going to coach Ed. He needs to know what the signs are when things need attention."

Al's gaze turned down to his human hands. He remembered how hard it had been to learn how to work the knots out of the muscles that supported the weight of the prosthesis, and do it without causing any further damage with those unyielding armor fingers. It would be so much easier now, with the greater ability to feel what he was doing. He probably hurt Ed more than he should have back then, but Ed was so grateful for the relief he never complained except as a joke. Now he would have the Major doing the massage techniques once Al taught him; and he would think that the Major was so much better at it than Al had been. The younger boy was jealous already.

"I'm sure we can arrange that. That's a good idea. I'm sure you can explain it to the Major better than Ed could."

"Hm." Al began sliding to the edge of the bed, clumsily pulling the rolling pole that held his intravenous bags suspended above him. Havoc moved to help him, recognizing the beginning of the awkward shuffle to the bathroom.

When Al made it to his feet, gripping the pole in with one white-knuckled hand, Havoc steadied him until the light-headed feeling from standing up passed. Leaning into him for support, it seemed like Alphonse was clinging a little more than what was necessary just to walk.

So when he re-emerged from the bathroom, a little out of breath, Havoc took hold of him again, and gave him a careful hug of support before moving him along back to the bed. Al had hugged back, hard, silently telegraphing the avalanche of distress, something he was concealing as best he could at the moment. An avalanche some strange doctor was about to come in and try to prod out into the open. Necessary, perhaps, but certainly not pleasant.

The knock came at the door about the same time Al got re-situated in the bed. Havoc rose and gave Al's shoulder a squeeze before asking if they would be sure to come get him if anyone called for him. The doctor was reluctant to agree that, but did. With the assurance that he would be posted just outside the door, Havoc stepped out and left them to their session.

xxxxxx

Once they ruled out the infirmary, Hawkeye and Breda met up with Mustang and Fuery at the front steps to the main building. The immediate perimeter search the men had just finished turned up nothing, and Armstrong could be seen shaking his head in the negative as he approached from the opposite direction. They were running out of possibilities.

It was only by chance that they got a lead; the distant clang of the dumpster lid slamming caught their attention. Rushing around the corner and darting back to the service patio, they piled into the wide opening and found not Ed, but a young soldier who had been dumping yard waste into the large receptacle.

"Sir!" the slightly grimy and sweaty young man straightened quickly and swatted his forehead with his free hand in a hasty, surprised salute.

"Private Tomlins, at ease. We're doing a search of the area. Have you seen anyone around since you've been on duty here? Anyone at all."

"Sir! Yes, sir. Not quite an hour ago, when I first got here, I saw a kid heading across there over by the service road. No one since."

"A kid? Elaborate."

"Sir. About this tall, light hair, slight build, pretty sure it was a male, only saw him from behind. Gray t-shirt, light pants. I didn't pay much attention once I saw it was just a kid, but it caught my eye, because no one really goes that way. It's a lot easier to take the path, you don't have the bushes in the way like you do there. Even at that, you rarely see anyone on the path either. It just leads out to the preserve. Er, I didn't think I needed to report it. I mean, the preserve isn't military property. I didn't see where he came from but I figured it must have been from the road. It looked like he was just cutting through." The private waved his rake in the direction of the hedges, pointing, as he finished explaining.

He watched curiously as the commissioned officers barked orders before splitting up, three of them darting off in the direction he had indicated. He hoped he wasn't going to be in trouble for not challenging a civilian cutting across the lawn. It was way out here in the back, unfenced, with no signage; and the service road, though seldom used by anyone but the military and the garbage service, was public property. Surely the kid didn't realize he'd technically been trespassing for a minute or two.

But it sure looked like the officers meant business. He hurried to finish up his task and get things put away; with any luck, he would be done and gone before they came back, and his part in whatever this was would be forgotten. When the two men left behind disappeared in the direction of the main building, he threw the equipment back in the shed and cleaned up so fast he even surprised himself.

_tbc_


	15. Chapter 15

_Shorter chapter quicker update...we'll try it that way and see if it works better. Thanks for coming back, and for the encouragement. _

**Chapter 15**

"It was somebody with shoes who went through here, and quite recently," the Major grunted as he pushed open the slight part in the thick hedge and saw the deep prints consistent with his own. "Maybe it wasn't Ed that Private Tomlins saw, after all." Mustang and Hawkeye followed closely, examining the tracks as well.

"These have to be from someone else. With his automail, you'd see more depth with one than the other because of the weight. These are too well matched and too regular to be his, even if he took someone else's footwear." Mustang frowned. "But wait, look right over there."

A short distance down the hedgerow, another area of the greenery had been disturbed. Emerging from that area were more new prints. The first set of the tracks they'd followed, pressed into the damp soil starting where the lawn grew thin, had definite hard soles and a regular right-left pattern. But now there was another mismatched set of impressions, one side treading deeper with more of a foot-like shape with telltale square-edged toe impression, one lighter that made an indistinct impression only where the ground was especially wet and soft - consistent with the naked heavy automail and a stocking-clad foot. Ed had passed through the hedge at a slightly different point than the shoe-wearer. Just past the hedge, Ed's trail met with the other, and there was a rut and smear of dirt just past where an automail print went at an angle off to the side, an indication of a fall or slide. An impression that seemed to be from the hard impact of the heel of the automail hand was there as well. It had obliterated some of the shoe prints, indicating that the mismatched prints and the fall had come after, and were the more current ones.

A flutter, only visible from her crouched position examining the prints, caught Hawkeye's attention. She reached back into the greenery, extracting a relatively clean grey sock with a sanding of fresh dirt on the sole. "This is what Ed was wearing!"

"We're on the right track, then. These have to be his," Mustang said, fully satisfied by the evidence, biting down on the sharp feelings of urgency to keep his head clear.

They rose and soon were hurrying to follow the odd single track on slightly firmer ground, where the automail left a print and the unshod human foot did not, but now it was becoming clear that Ed was not close by. The open field they were traversing before the next stand of trees revealed a startled magpie and nothing more. The Colonel's dark eyes lifted their gaze and scanned the area as far away as the natural screening of vegetation would allow, never slacking off the pace.

"What the hell is he doing clear out here?"

It struck him that this might not be resolved as quickly as he'd thought; when they discovered the right tracks he figured Ed would be nearby. As worried as he was for Ed, the pressure from the news of the Fuhrer's impending visit had him feeling irritated as well. The only way the timing for this could have been worse would be if he had pulled this stunt while the man was actually here.

Through the varying terrain, in and out of through a number of stands of evergreens, they followed Edward's distinct tracks. While they were clearly visible in most places, they had to do some looking to pick them up again where they disappeared briefly across a few dry and overgrown areas. It began to stretch belief that Ed had managed such a distance, given how little stamina and strength he had at his disposal. Especially since they themselves were moving with all possible speed; they should have overtaken him by this point, what with his difficulty keeping up a regular pace, even if he'd left immediately after the last time he was seen.

"He can't be too much further ahead, I don't think he can keep going for long. He just doesn't move all that well," Hawkeye chimed in as they hustled along. "I can't believe he made it this far."

"No. I'm really surprised he would head out on his own like this at all. I merely suggested that he might want to go out for a walk to get some air as part of his daily regimen and it made him so nervous he refused immediately," the Major said. "He seemed to be afraid the minute he thought about going outside."

"Look there. You can tell where he went down on his knees, got up and went a few steps and then fell again. I wonder if I should call out to him." Mustang peered ahead but couldn't see very far through the trees. The more distance they covered, the more bizarre the whole situation seemed to be. They were getting close to the most heavily wooded area, and still no visual. The terrain was increasingly rough, with some large rock formations and huge fallen timbers taking up the space between the dense forestation.

The officer considered his tactics quickly; if Ed was running away and they called to him, he might leave the easier path he'd been traveling on order to hide. The variety of places he could conceal himself here were many, and some of them could be hazardous. And, it would increase the risk that it would take more time to find him. Even though they could still track him if he took off to hide, it might be better to rely on surprise. It seemed safer to try and just grab him, than to warn him and possibly have him injure himself if he panicked trying to get away.

"Shall I?" Armstrong asked.

"No, Major, I'm thinking we shouldn't. We don't know why he ran off. It might cause him to do something rash. As a matter of fact, let's start moving a little more quietly. I really think he can't have gone much farther considering how often he's losing his footing. Use your eyes and ears, let's see if we can't find him before he detects us." Mustang held his hand out and patted down in the air to signal them to tighten up and slow down.

"Oh, shit! Er, sorry, sir. But…I just realized…I don't have his sedative on me," Hawkeye groaned.

"Oh shit is right," Mustang agreed under his breath. "Well, we'll just have to make do."

"He fell hard again here. Extremely hard," Armstrong whispered, shaking his head. This didn't add up. What would make Ed expose himself outside the building, run away from them all, and keep going with this much effort and difficulty? He must be truly delusional again, the Major worried, wondering what Ed would do when they found him.

They weaved through the next stand of trees, losing and then picking up the trail again. Mustang counted his blessings that Ed had kept to the low area here, wetter and with few obstacles to circumvent. Had he taken to the higher rocky ground, they might have lost his trail already. His policy of not allowing him to wear shoes may have had a hand in that. As distraught as Ed must be, he apparently was taking some caution in avoiding the terrain that would be most painful to his shoeless foot.

"Was he following these other footprints?" Hawkeye muttered to herself. The shoe-print trail was still showing up here and there as well and went the same way as Ed's at almost every change in direction now. They hadn't detected any other signs of human encroachment for quite some time.

They worked into the trees slowly and warily now, making their footfalls as silent as possible, glad for the quiet of damp pine needles and soft wet soil. An unbelievable ten more minutes of weaving with these soggier tracks had moved them into thinner vegetation; when they came cautiously to the brink of a small clearing, they froze. His back to them, Ed was sitting stiffly on the damp ground, breathing noisily as if he were in distress, but otherwise he was stock-still.

Mustang motioned quickly for Hawkeye to circle right as he went left, with the Major to come up directly from behind.

Ed heard the subtle movements of something approaching, acclimated as he was to the ambient sounds around him. It interrupted his inner struggle, his fierce fight to obey his orders. His survival instincts had been screaming at him to get up and try to find his own way back, and opt for the less-terrifying consequences that might be dealt out in the safety of the military installation. He had barely managed to fight that urge to abandon his duty by clinging to the brittle belief that Mustang wasn't lying and would come back, primarily because he also believed that he was far too tired and his condition too poor to have any hope of making it all the way back on his own.

He spotted Mustang out of the corner of his eye first, suppressing the jolt of alarm and reaffirming his determination to freeze. The thought of being left out here overnight had so scared the crap out him that he was still rigid in alert, even after waiting so long. Try as he might to stop, his shaking got more pronounced, and his breathing grew ragged and loud. His stomach was fighting him as well, threatening to force him to move with the rising pressure of nausea. He switched to breathing through his mouth but it did little good. He was trying his hardest to get ready to take the blows and the cruel words, if that was to be the next step. He tried to tell himself it would be all right, that everything would be all right, just so long as those steps took him back inside.

When he saw the flicker of eye that let him know he'd been seen. Mustang swallowed hard and slowly continued his path to get more in front, staying slightly to the side of the shaky young man. He was alert for any movement or expression that might indicate Ed's next move. But other than the telltale eye movement, the boy remained strangely still.

"Ed," he said softly, watching for a reaction that didn't come. He kept moving, but slowed even more once he saw the amber eyes begin to focus and track him. "Edward, can you hear me? It's me, Ed, it's Colonel Mustang. You recognize me, don't you? Are you all right?"

Ed let his eyes cautiously follow the man's progress now, but he wasn't ready to move. Not until he had some indication that he had done well enough to be allowed to return to the base.

His body jerked involuntarily when a sound to his other side alerted him to Hawkeye's presence. It scared him for a moment because he hadn't expected anyone else, but he caught himself and tried to hold still. A gasp broke from his lips, and the opportunistic bile rose enough to burn his throat before he clamped his mouth shut and swallowed the bitter liquid back down.

"Easy, now," Mustang said, detecting the skittish reaction to Hawkeye's presence. He started easing closer, hands palm up and open to show that he intended no harm. Ed appeared to be aware of them, but didn't respond as if he knew them. His tension was obvious. "It's just Lieutenant Hawkeye. You know her, don't you? She's here to help. It's all right."

Ed began panting loudly, starting to turn his head without thinking and catching himself abruptly to stop the motion, no longer looking up. His peripheral vision screened for sudden movement, or the pull back of an arm that would telegraph a blow coming his way.

"Looks like you're pretty tired. That was quite a little hike you took to get here. You could use some rest, doesn't that sound nice? Maybe you should let us help you out now. I think it would be a good idea for you to let us take you back to your room," Mustang said evenly. This appeared to be working well enough, so he kept talking continuously, closing in with slow and deliberate movement. When he finally worked his way close enough, he turned his right hand over gradually as he started reaching out, easing forward until he was almost touching Ed's arm. Ed hadn't moved, and he had taken it as a good sign that he wasn't being perceived as an enemy, although it was disheartening that he didn't seem to really know who they were yet. He looked awful, nearly as much of a mess physically as he appeared to be emotionally. Almost.

Ed pulled back suddenly, covering his face with his hands. It had taken a few beats before for the offer to return him to his room sank in. He'd made it, he was going to be allowed to go back, and the thought was such an enormous relief that it erupted as tears. He'd held still like he was supposed to, ever though it had almost been impossible to do, and now he wasn't going to be stranded out here alone any longer. The Colonel had been so mean and threatening, had even hurt him intentionally, and he still couldn't grasp what he had done that was so wrong. But maybe it was okay now, maybe he was forgiven. The beginnings of relief washed over him at this reprieve from the unsettling feeling of the older man's anger and disapproval.

Mustang stopped his advance, uncertain why Ed had shied away and covered up his face until he heard him begin to cry. That behavior fell within his expectations; he assumed that Ed must have been extremely upset to have risked running away like this, and to have maintained that state long enough to have gotten this far. He truly expected the boy to be completely out of control; this was actually much better than he had hoped.

"Steady, now, it's all right. It's going to be fine now, no one's here to harm you." The Colonel tried again, and Ed drew away from him slightly with an involuntary shudder.

Hawkeye stood by quietly, hoping Ed would look her way and really recognize her. Instead, he seemed to purposely avoid looking at her. She glanced up at the Major, silently stationed now at arm's reach directly behind Ed and still out of his field of vision; his expression looked just as concerned as she felt.

"I can see that you're having a hard time. We can help you, Ed. If you'll let me, I'm just going to have a quick look here and see where you're hurt before I help you up. That's all I'm doing, trying to help. We need to get you up off of the cold ground. We can talk about all this once we get you back safe and make sure you're all right." Mustang's foot hit something that made a hollow clang of metal, and he cursed inwardly as the startling noise made Ed jerk away again. It was the copper bowl, and he picked it up only half paying attention to the incongruous item, getting it out of the way so he was able to kneel closer to Ed. There was a dark blossom of blood plastering the material of Ed's shirt to his shoulder; it didn't look like anything serious, but he wanted a closer look to be sure. It might even provide some clue as to the events that started all this.

Ed looked up reluctantly, shaking his head. The Colonel was being so kind and comforting. Didn't he realize how much it hurt when he hit him in the shoulder? Hadn't he purposely done something to the wound afterward to make it hurt even more? It was more painful now than when the wound had been inflicted, it felt like it was eating into him, it must have been a vicious blow to have drawn blood in the first place. Was he acting like this for the Lieutenant's benefit? Or had there been some change of heart? Or was his accursed mind just playing tricks on him again? His eyes fell to the dented, discarded bowl, and that sight suddenly disturbed him more than anything else had.

"You won't take that?" Ed breathed hoarsely, breaking his silence with tears still tracing down his face.

A sudden chill gripped his churning guts; what if he'd spoken too soon? He shouldn't have said anything, it was insubordination, and now he was at risk of being abandoned again. Hunkering lower, he ordered himself to wait for a clear indication that he was permitted to speak now. The damp soil had chilled him through the thin pants, and his hip and back ached mightily; he knew his only option for survival now was to submit. His stiffening, aching body wouldn't get him ten feet at this rate.

But he had been sitting here for what felt like forever, with only the bowl in his field of vision for company, and it seemed wrong to just leave it behind. It seemed like the only reason he'd been forced to come out here and endure all this uncertainly.

Ed's words were unexpected; they seemed to be relatively lucid. So, did he know who they were, but wasn't willing to look at them? Mustang's look grew serious as he tried to puzzle it out, and he picked up the bowl again, the only thing in sight that he might be talking about. "This?"

Ed nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Tell me first - why do you ask?"

Ed lifted only his gaze as he stared up into the dark eyes, not daring to speak, but worried that not answering would anger him again.

"Ed, please tell me. Why do we need to take this? What is it for?" There was nothing else in the clearing but Ed and the bowl; Mustang couldn't feature what the significance of the object might be.

"Well, ah…I…" Ed fearfully obey the request for explanation and slowly brought his hands together in a mime of his alchemic ritual, and then pointed to the bowl uncertainly. His reply was nearly a whisper. "…I thought you wanted it."

"Ed, you did this with alchemy?" Mustang frowned, holding out the bowl for emphasis. He ran away, risked injury, worried them all, disrupted the entire staff…because he wanted to do something he had been told not to?

"You promised not to do any transmutations. Did you remember what the consequences would be? Is that why you ran away, to do this without getting in trouble? Why was this so important that…"

Riza drew in a startled breath at Mustang's words. They needed to get Ed secured and back inside before they started addressing anything that might upset him further. Reminding him of any kind of punishment was not the prudent thing to do, no matter how quiet and manageable he seemed to be at the moment.

Ed's reaction was immediate. He caught a tinge of the foul scent, as unique as any fingerprint, on the bowl as it passed near his face. His frantic, blind attempt to roll back and get to his feet to flee came up against several insurmountable obstacles. First, his stiffened, exhausted body went too far to one side, and he strained and sprained all the muscles in his lower torso that vainly attempted to put him in enough alignment with his automail leg to flee. Despite that agony, he floundered hard and doubled his effort, nearly getting the flesh leg under him as he pushed upright and spun away only to slam into a blue-covered brick wall. He was captured in massive arms that were so close he never saw them coming, terrifying him completely when they locked around him.

Armstrong grappled and re-gripped several times before he could effective keep Ed contained while he was struggling so explosively and unpredictably. Hawkeye and Mustang moved in close as backup to prevent his escape in the unlikely event that he would slip that strong, capable control.

"Whoa, Edward, calm down, it's all right. Don't fight me," Armstrong urged in a loud, steady voice, holding firmly against the flailing attempts to get away. "I don't want to hurt you."

Ed's face was buried in the man's chest as he was gripped tight. He couldn't help but realize that this was the Major when the familiar voice pierced the roar of panic in his ears, and he had the inescapable proof of authenticity smashed against his nose. The Major would never consort knowingly with the homunculus. It confused things further, unless the inhuman monsters had fooled him, too.

Ed's fight to get away suddenly turned into an clutching hold.

"Major! Major! Help me!" Ed cried, muffled into the massive coat.

"I've got you. Edward, you're fine," Armstrong said, keeping a firm grip. "The Colonel didn't mean to frighten you. He wasn't going to hurt you, nor am I."

"No, it's not him! Run, run!"

"Shhh, hey now, Ed, I didn't mean to upset you. I'm not angry, I was just trying to find out what happened. Look, let me…" Mustang went to place his hand in front of Ed's face, but Ed smashed into the Major so hard to avoid him it almost made him rethink the move. Armstrong grunted with the impact.

The Colonel brought his hand up again, persistent in getting close enough this time to place it against the face weaving frantically to avoid it.

Mustang's touch was light and brief, with no force, and did not take advantage of the opportunity to inflict pain while he was helplessly restrained; yet it only added to the chaos in Ed's mind when it didn't have the ominous odor he expected. It was slightly less threatening to find that he had been mistaken about what he thought he had sensed, but it was still not a complete relief. If this was really Mustang and had been all along, then he still might hurt him again, or worse yet, order them to leave him behind for showing cowardice. He clawed into the Major, grasping blindly and shaking his head in his inability to cope with the situation.

"Perhaps I should just start taking him back now, while I've got him," Armstrong suggested evenly, hoping the Colonel would take the hint and move away.

"Please, don't leave me." Ed was clinging, his flesh leg buckling under him now. His blood pressure was spiraling so high that red and black patterns began to appear in his vision, giving everything an unreal, segmented look. When Mustang's hand touched him, he hadn't smelled a thing. That should have been reassuring, but the events gave him too many conflicting messages for him to let his guard down now. Exhaustion and adrenaline played off one another until a familiar escape route began to tug him towards relief. Standby was trying to make a comeback, and he longed to take shelter there now, but he was too fearful of being left behind if he allowed it. They could abandon him easily once he let go of the will to fight back, and there was no telling what they might do to him in that defenseless, unaware state of mind.

Mustang nodded in understanding and backed off without comment, letting the Major shift again to gather Ed up with a more careful hold. After taking a moment to consider the options, Armstrong determined that he would need to carried, at least until he calmed down. He decided to lift him up to just below shoulder height in hopes of keeping him from being able to look around much, while making it easier for the two of them to communicate. It seemed like the less visual input Ed got, the easier the trip should be for him.

Once lifted, Ed struggled briefly to get loose and then gripped tightly by turns as he panicked at not being able to see where Mustang had gone and held on desperately to his lifesaver. The Major was talking quietly and began the long trek back, reminding him that he needed his rest, that his room was where he belonged for that activity, and that his bed was soft and dry and waiting. He rambled in a slow, soothing monologue about warm showers, soft blankets and safe surroundings. It seemed to be helping a little. Ed was still with him, although the familiar signs of standby began to appear and then faded a number of times. It became more than apparent that Ed was in no shape to make any of the return trip under his own power.

If not for his connection with the Major, Ed would have been in serious trouble coping with the long, arduous journey back. The man was as powerful as they come, but even he could not make the trip without considerable jostling of his passenger. Being carried over the uneven terrain while gravity pulled harshly at the metal limbs was extremely unpleasant and the massive hold felt claustrophobic from the start.

Only the Major's reassuring words and familiar voice drew him in; that, and the fact that it was his only hope of getting back. Several times he nearly begged him to stop and let him down to rest, to give him a break from the pain and discomfort; but each time, just on the verge of speaking up, the adrenaline of fear gave him just enough energy to keep hanging on.

As much as he desperately wanted to get back in the safety of his room, the trip out had pushed him far past his body's endurance already. By the time they were getting close to the boundary, he had grown still, no energy left for struggle, barely tolerating the discomfort but helpless to do anything else. The Major kept looking down to check on him since he no longer responded when asked if he was still all right.

Fuery was heading in their direction just past the hedges when they met up. Mustang put a finger to his lips and waved him over. The sun was getting low in the sky, and Kane had decided to leave his post to follow up on them, concerned that they may have run into trouble with the day growing short.

"I'll go ahead and clear the way," Hawkeye whispered and jogged ahead after getting the high sign. By then, the private had long ago finished his work on the grounds and no one was between them and their destination. She waited and pulled the doors open, the warmth of the interior washing over them like a sigh of relief as they found themselves back in the safety of the headquarters building.

Ed's reaction to entering the building caught the Major by surprise. His sudden flurry of movement nearly got him dropped. Hawkeye stepped in as he slid down and helped support him.

"Almost there, almost there. Just hang on a little longer," she urged.

"I've got him now," the Major grunted, resetting his hold. "Be still if you can, Edward. This just causes us to delay."

"You're sure you've got him? I need to run and check on something. I'll be right back."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant. Ed and I will be fine."

Alone for the final short stretch in the hallway, the walls echoed Armstrong's heavy breathing from exertion and Ed's barely audible words, if words they were, thin with pain and distress.

When they stepped into the dimly lit room, Ed's hands, metal and flesh, smashed over his mouth to try and contain the sounds that threatened to force their way out. Here, he was finally here, and the release of pressure, while not complete, was completely disorienting. The solid objects around him seemed to soften into gel, then further dissolve into liquid. It disturbed him deeply as it robbed him of the security of finally being back where he belonged. Instead, he was floundering to find a reliable point of reference, to try and detected whether he was awake, asleep, or even alive.

"Edward. What's happening?" The Major had started to release him, only to have to grab him to prevent him from dropping in a heap. His voice jarred Ed back into the moment, unstable but seizing at the hope that he really had made it back into the safety of his room. His arms dropped and his head lolled, and the Major had to bend low to ease him carefully down on the floor . He was far too wet and muddy to place on the bed if it was going to suitable to sleep in tonight. He patted the pale jaw carefully, trying to roust his attention.

"Come on, Ed. You're here in your room. Try and focus on where we are." His massive fingers slid to check the pulse in Ed's neck, finding it too fast and too weak, not unlike his breathing. "It's time to calm down now."

He tugged the folded wool blanket off the bed and put it over Ed's body, watching it take on the same pattern of shaking as the slight frame it draped over.

"I'm going to give you just a minute to get your bearings, but no longer. We need to get you out of those wet, dirty clothes as soon as possible."

Ed's eyes closed miserably but he moved his head in a small, tired nod of consent.

The Major was tremendously encouraged by that little motion. They were in touch again on some level. Ed was in bad shape, but there was no serious damage as far as he could tell. And now, a small sign of cooperation already. His fears that this adventure might end up in a return trip to the mental facility seemed to be unfounded after all.

He kneeled, ready to address the challenge of getting the boy off the floor without making him feel unstable again. It was time to draw on that small but all-important bit of trust that he had worked so hard to create. He carefully reached under the blanket and used a calming hand to silence the subtle, involuntary rattle of automail fingers against the hard floor.

oooooo

"Where was he?" Fuery had asked as they trailed the Major in the hallway, keeping his voice too low for Ed to hear. They had allowed a healthy lead for Armstrong, to stay just out of sight in case Ed managed to get a look back somehow.

"The wooded glen by the refuge, almost to the lake."

"You're serious, way out there? Any idea why?"

"He's nuts, remember?" Mustang's voice was low as he snapped back irritably. Instead of continuing to follow the pair, he took the turn that lead to his office, pointedly ignoring Fuery's questioning look at the unexpected change in direction. "I doubt there is a 'why', other than that." He rubbed his tired brow, wondering how he was going to get things in order in time for a visit from the Fuhrer. He'd already lost the majority of the day with all this uproar. He came to abrupt halt and the smaller man nearly plowed into him, just regaining his balance and composure when the Colonel pivoted to address him directly to his face.

"Go tell Lieutenant Hawkeye. I want him knocked out. Stone cold out. Have her tell Armstrong and Havoc stay put, no swapping places for the night shift. No more disruption today, period. I don't want to hear any arguments or excuses, either." He turned back and stalked away, leaving Fuery to salute his back and trail the words, "Yes, sir," in a subdued tone.

Once in his office, he threw the copper bowl onto the couch from across the room and sat heavily, slamming both fists down on the desktop. Ed was going to be doped up tomorrow as well. This visit from the brass was not something they could afford to screw up, for his sake or the Elric's.

_tbc_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Fuery passed the Colonel's orders on to Lieutenant Hawkeye. From her look, it was clear that she shared his own misgivings.

"He must need the rest anyway," Fuery said apologetically as they went to get the drugs from her locked desk. Still, they felt like they were punishing Ed without a trial.

Ed was still trying weakly to hang on to the Major as he struggled to get the young man out of his cold, wet, filthy clothes and into things that were clean and dry. The pale soul was mumbling constantly, warning and pleading with unintelligible sounds and pushing away suddenly to look everywhere, making sure Mustang was nowhere near.

"This is your room, take another look around so you're sure where you are. You're completely safe here. It's time to rest, you need to settle down." Armstrong talked to him directly and clearly, trying to make him understand that it was all over now. Ed was growing more aware and responsive now that the fear of abandonment was no longer imminent. His defenses were slowly lowering, but he still wasn't making much sense yet.

"But what if he comes back?" Ed quavered. "If he…if he makes me follow him at night this time? If he makes me stay out there? No, or, no…not him…or…" Ed pressed uncoordinated fingers against his forehead, trying to make sense of the scrambled thoughts. Mustang had led him out, but someone else had brought him back…or…

"He? Who are you referring to, Edward? Who do you think is coming to take you?"

"The Colonel, the Colonel, he might change his mind and leave me out there!"

"Edward, the Colonel wants you right here, I guarantee it. No one is coming to take you anywhere. I'm going to walk you down to the restroom as soon as we get you squared away in these dry clothes, and that's the last trip you're making out of this room today," Armstrong said firmly. "You've gone and made yourself properly lame. I'd venture to guess that you've got some serious sprains there. We'll be icing those down, to start off with." If Alphonse hadn't been in the infirmary, he would have taken Ed directly there. For now, his expert first aid would have to do.

"Just don't leave me." Ed's plea froze in his throat and his eyes flashed in fear. A figure had suddenly appeared in the doorway, outlined in the waning sunlight from the hall windows.

"Lieutenant," the Major greeted with exaggerated nonchalance. "Just getting ready to escort Edward to the men's room. We won't be long; as much as I'd rather see him cleaned up properly, I don't think he's up to showering right now." He needed to clean out the wound on Ed's shoulder, but hadn't quite decided how he could pull it off without destroying the tentative cooperation he'd managed to get from the boy.

"Oh,' Hawkeye forced a smile, stepping just inside the doorway. "Carry on then, I wanted to have a word with Ed. But it can wait for that." She palmed the hypo unhappily. Ed was not completely calm, but he was not out of control. He was peering at her from his station glued to Armstrong's side, where he'd wedged himself in reaction to her entrance. He relaxed only slightly when he saw who had joined them; but it was enough that Armstrong was able to place him back at arm's length. He fell into an unblinking stare as the fresh shirt was tugged down over his head as if he were a toddler.

"Arm," the Major requested patiently, guiding his charge into the clean gray t-shirt one limb at a time. Once the shirt was on, Ed crossed his arms and squeezed them close against his middle.

"Inside," Ed whispered to himself, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He should have pretended to be asleep, he should have closed his eyes tight and ignored Mustang when he ordered him to follow. He would never follow him again, ever. He would never go outside for anyone, for any reason, ever again.

"What is it, Ed?" Hawkeye asked gently.

Armstrong shook his head at her pointedly. This was difficult enough without any additional distractions or interruptions. "Give us a few, we'll be right back. I want to get him ready so he can rest."

As expected, there was a flurry of uncertainty when the hulking alchemist tried to lead Ed out into the hall. He resisted slightly at first, started to go, then turned and tried to retreat back into his room.

"Come along, now, Edward. It's just a walk to the restroom and back. I'll help you. We've done this before."

Ed shied away when the Major reached for his arm, dodging back just out of reach and staggering back a step. His overtaxed body trembled from the effort to stay on his feet.

"We need to get this done so you can rest. I know you're tired. Let me help you."

The slight form took a step back again and stumbled. Armstrong tried to sweep him up in the same motion that he used to prevent his fall, hoping to continue moving him on out with the momentum. As soon as he accomplish the lift, he had an out-and-out panic and fight response on his hands. He released his hold quickly to prevent an escalation of the struggle.

"Look, look, I'm letting go. It's okay, I just didn't want you to fall. Let's start over. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make this more difficult for you."

Ed made a pained sound and pressed a hand to his cramping hip, still watching them both intensely for any false move.

"I know it hurts. We can take it a little slower. Just take a step in this direction, can you do that? Just one. I promise that I won't try to force you."

There was a long pause, long enough that it started to look doubtful that this was going to work. But then Ed slid a cautious foot forward. No one made a move toward him. He eased the other foot up as well, working hard to keep his balance. When he tried to take the next step his knee threatened to buckle. He reached out tentatively and took a handful of the Major's sleeve to stay upright. After a few moments of motionless waiting, he felt more assured that no one was going to grab him again. He gripped the material tighter and took another small step.

Armstrong resigned himself to this slow pace of leading and coaxing. At each step the Major calmed him and got him pointed in the right direction again, explaining with infinite patience again and again that they were merely going to the bathroom and back, finally getting him through the entire trip by wearing him down with persistence. It took far longer than the few minutes he'd predicted.

Hawkeye admired the man's compassion. It would have been tempting to just situate Ed on a waterproof pad and clean up after him later if need be; but it wasn't good for his self-esteem, and it definitely wasn't something they intended to encourage as a normal option.

Ed was the one doing the grabbing by the time they returned, hanging on to the Major again for support of every kind. She waited dutifully until Armstrong situated Ed on the bed afterward, draping him with a blanket and then exposing each area as he inspected and treated the injuries as best he could, saving the shoulder for last.

He was good about the cold packs, as uncomfortable as they were. He understood it was for his benefit, even as he shivered pathetically. Under the fresh blanket, on the familiar if somewhat Spartan bed, things seemed to be all right for the moment. The Major was doing some pretty uncomfortable things to him, between the ice and making him move to check the extent of his injuries; and yet, since it was to take care of him, Ed didn't want him to stop.

After a day of abandonment and abuse, attention from someone he could halfway trust was something he desperately needed. He held as still as he could and concentrated on the hands that moved here and there over his protesting muscles, trying to pay enough attention to do as he was asked. By focusing on this and locking out the part of his mind still reeling in hurt and fear, he was hoping to bring an end to the constant assault that had made up this day. Other than complying with the Major's request, he tried not to move. Any stray motion he made might be the one that triggered the next unpleasant occurrence.

The day's activities resulted in a serious case of dehydration, but there was resistance to the Major's prompts to get him to drink. Hawkeye had been working her way closer, a little at a time, while Armstrong was working steadily to assess Ed's condition. She made it near the head of the bed without causing any apparent upset. She took over the attempt at persuasion, using gentle coaxing and offering the water in bare sips at first.

The Lieutenant's close proximity made Ed wary and uncomfortable. She hadn't done anything wrong…yet. But Ed thought of her almost as an appendage to the Colonel. If he ordered her to do something, she would do it. Her touch was gentle, and she was very careful not to give him too much water at one time in case he choked. Still, he couldn't decide if she was really trying to help him. He was grateful that Armstrong didn't leave them alone. As long as the Major was there, everyone seemed to put there bad intentions on hold.

It was exhausting, never having a safe moment. Even when his body was at rest, there was no moment's peace for his mind anymore. Reality was thundering back in with a vengeance, and without standby for shelter to regroup in, it made his tentative attempts at reasoning impossibly difficult. He was trying to calm himself in order to think, but trying was an effort, too, so it was self-defeating from the start.

The Lieutenant had to work hard to convince Ed to drink more, working her way up to administering the anti-inflammatory pain medication Armstrong insisted on giving him. The trip had taken a lot out of him and he obviously hadn't had access to liquids for most of the day in spite of his extreme exertion. Sips were better than nothing, but they just weren't going to cut it. He would resist taking any water, then suddenly gulp some down and then freeze, as if something bad might happen if he drank too long. Once he finally managed the pill, it wasn't long before the relaxing effect was evident.

He became more watery-eyed and watchful, and small, single sobs would escape Ed's lips every once in a while, seemingly unrelated to the pain of the first aid.

It was after one of those sounds that Hawkeye made the decision to put off giving Ed the sedative, even though it was technically against orders. It sounded like he was still very upset, and it just didn't seem fair not to try to talk him down from it before knocking him out. She determined that it wouldn't hurt to wait just a little bit longer and attempted instead to get him a little more at ease.

"Ed, what is it? You can tell us. We just want to help you."

Ed's head shook slowly in dismay. He still couldn't let down his guard. He didn't want to think about the day anymore, he almost had it pushed back into his head far enough to forget it for now. He wished she would stop talking about it; but his thoughts were not organized enough for him to verbalize that request.

"I know that being out there on your own was hard for you, but it's over now, and you're going to be fine. We're going to do a better job of watching out for you now, I promise. If someone had been with you, they could have helped you to remember that you can't be going off alone like that. We can make sure this doesn't happen again." Hawkeye smiled reassuringly.

Ed's answer burst out as if from under unbearable pressure. "I didn't! I didn't! He did! You don't know?" He began to shake; had this monumental thing happened to him and he was the only one who knew? Was she stupid, was she lying, what was the answer? He felt completely vulnerable. He'd thought that they were watching out for him, but they weren't. They had no clue.

"Ed, Ed, who did? Explain it to us."

"I didn't want to go anywhere or do anything! It's not my fault! I can't stop him if you can't," Ed wailed, tongue and self-restraint loosened by the painkiller. "I have to follow orders!"

"Okay, okay, of course you do, I believe you," Hawkeye said calmingly, looking at Armstrong's equally puzzled expression. "It's all right. I just thought it might help to talk about it. I wasn't here, Ed, so I don't know what happened."

"I was just trying to rest. But Colonel made me follow him, Colonel bastard, so mean. It was so far. Too far! He was going to leave me out there. In the dark! All night! He hit me! He hurt me! I didn't deserve it. I didn't." Ed's ragged lower lip protruded; he was right, wasn't he? Mustang wasn't supposed to hit him like that, or threaten to tie him up and leave him in the dark. Was he?

"Ed, you're a little confused, aren't you? The Colonel didn't lay a hand on you. And he had the Major bring you back to your room. He didn't make you follow him anywhere; he made absolutely sure that we found you and did not leave you. It's the opposite of what you've said. Maybe you don't remember how you ended up outside? It's all right if you don't remember right now, or if you don't want to talk about..."

"He's fooled you!" Ed gasped. "He made me go! I was right here, right here, and he came and got me…right…right after I came here to rest, right after I worked by your desk."

"Hey, hey," Armstrong hushed, removing one of the ice packs and trying to divert his attention. "We can talk about this later. Right now the important thing is to address your recovery. Are you a little more comfortable? Do you need a little more pain medication?"

"Right here, I know it. I didn't. He did." Ed ignored them now, still struggling with the inference that he was mistaken. He wasn't. He had a clear and vivid memory of the events, although much of it was confusing and hard to accept. Did that confusion imply that he couldn't trust his recollection, as real as it seemed? Didn't that mean he couldn't trust anything he supposedly 'knew' right now? Ed was slow to settle down again, and he made a half-hearted attempt to twist back and see what that painful wound on his shoulder looked like, to see if the physical evidence could help him decide if he was remembering or imagining things.

The two officers weren't sure what he was doing as he contorted, and it was physically impossible for him to successfully stretch and turn far enough to accomplish his goal, as stiff and weakened as his body was at the moment. They carefully took hold of him and straightened him back out. He allowed it, only resisting initially until he realized he wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.

Armstrong took to wiping his face with a damp cloth, more to distract and calm him than anything else. It was surprisingly effective.

"I don't think he's up for any more talking. He really needs to rest now," Hawkeye sighed, pointedly showing Armstrong the prepared hypodermic just out of Ed's field of vision.

"That's a suggestion?" Armstrong asked hopefully. He was against sedating Ed when it could at all be avoided. A small increase in his pain medication would probably be sufficient to set the exhausted boy up for a decent stretch of sleep and manageable calm before and after.

"No, I'm afraid it wasn't left up to me. I've let it go longer than I was instructed to already."

"I see. Very well, then. Come here a minute, Ed. I just need to sit you up for a little bit." The burly alchemist set aside the cloth and carefully gathered Ed up into a bear-hug style hold to still him without alarming him further. "I want you to know something, Edward. You will not be alone tonight. I want you to sleep soundly, knowing that you are safe."

"But who..?" Ed started to ask, but his question had been anticipated.

"I will stay right here with you. I won't leave this room. I will see to it that no one bothers you. Even the Colonel. All right? I want you to rest easy."

The pinch of the needle startled him, but Armstrong held him too tight to move away or see.

"Ah! No, I don't want…" All the strained muscles tensed and sang with pain, stealing away his words mid-protest. The slight body was rigid in alarm.

"Sorry, sorry, hold on now. You can trust me, Edward. Relax and let me take care of things." He thought quickly, aiming to keep the boy's trust intact. "Your shoulder wound needs to be cleaned, and I think it would hurt too much to make you suffer through it. We're just giving you a little something to make sure you don't feel it."

Ed didn't like it, but it made sense. Unlike the world at large, he still felt that Armstrong behaved in ways that he could understand and he held on to that bit of stability like a drowning man. When the huge arms loosened their hold, he didn't take the opportunity to get away. Instead, he rested against the broad chest and closed his eyes, listening to the strong heartbeat and absorbing the body heat radiating in welcome contrast to his chilled, thin frame. His flesh hand, unconsciously locked in a death grip on a handful of the blue jacket, grew lax and slipped down to rest open-palmed on the Major's lap. It was in this manner that he drifted into sleep and beyond.

Once he was unconscious, the Major arranged him carefully on the bed again, this time on his stomach in order to clean out the nasty wound on the back of his shoulder. It was grossly inflamed, darkened with bluish bruising in a large area around it, swollen and strangely slimy. For such a relatively small break in the skin, it was remarkably painful in appearance. Armstrong cleaned it diligently and dug out all of the foreign matter with worry. Redwood splinters were highly irritating even when they were tiny; this large, dirty, splintered shard had the wound festering already. Although he applied his best first aid practices, it still didn't seem to clean up the way it should.

He applied triple-antibiotic and bandaged it, his sixth sense nipping at him that this was not quite right.

"He thinks Colonel Mustang is to blame for this somehow?" Hawkeye frowned, after making certain that Ed was still completely under and unable to hear them.

"It certainly sounds like it," Armstrong shrugged. "His was the first face Edward saw when we came upon him. Transference, perhaps. We're witness to the fact that it's impossible for the Colonel to have had any involvement in this prior to the boy's retrieval, not that I would have the least suspicion that he would do anything remotely like the sort of thing Edward is implying."

"He was overtired when he went to his room. He might have been dreaming, sleepwalking, something." Hawkeye offered.

"He was quite disturbed by the Colonel's absence, didn't you think? He might not be able to cope with feelings of anger or abandonment when they involve someone he's so dependent on. Given his mental status, his exhaustion and the situation, I can see where this might have come from." Armstrong carefully turned Ed onto his back, applying the cold packs to his sprains again.

"I see what you mean. He said the Colonel made him go away and was going to leave him there. That he hurt him. It's how he may have been feeling about the Colonel being away. Hurt, left behind, forced into going it alone." Hawkeye stepped to the bedside and cocked her head to contemplate Ed's inscrutable expression of drugged sleep. "What now, I wonder? How hard will it be to explain it to him so that he can trust the Colonel again?"

"One thing at a time, Lieutenant. For now, I'll find it satisfactory if he can make his next trip to the lavatory without being afraid that he won't be coming back."

"I have to go, Major. Fuhrer Bradley is still going to be here tomorrow to meet with the Colonel. We need to get things in order."

"I see. If you need me, I'll be right here."

"Yes. Havoc's going to be seeing the night through with Alphonse, too. The double shifts are unavoidable."

"I wasn't planning to avoid it anyway," Armstrong smiled slightly. "I did give Edward my word."

"Yes, well…I need to run on now and make sure that Havoc's been informed. He was going to come take the night shift from you but now the Colonel wants everybody to stay put and just keep a lid on things. That was why he ordered the sedative, I'm told."

She left the major as he leaned over to tuck in a corner of the blanket, rearranging the ice packs again.

xxxxx

When the phone rang with Fuery's quick message that they had located Ed and he was being brought in soon, Havoc breathed a huge sigh of relief. It had been a tough afternoon with Alphonse. The session with the psychologist seemed to have picked all of his emotional wounds wide open, and his behavior since then had largely consisted of a painfully strained attempt to hold himself together punctuated by brief episodes of just plain losing it. Havoc had no idea what they would have done if he hadn't been there to try and help him regain control. The staff just sort of left him holding the bag here, not that he saw any sign that the infirmary had anything planned that would have been more helpful.

Al was grieving hard. As far as Havoc was able to decipher, the shrink had been trying to convince Al that Edward was a lost cause and that for his own survival, he needed to consider himself first and try moving on alone.

Al was completely crushed. He'd geared himself up for the session with the hope that, no matter how unpleasant the examination was, he would try and come away with some insights into Ed's condition, some sort of angle that would help them reconnect. But the doctor's professional opinion was that Al's condition was nearly as acute as Ed's, and that he needed help, along with separation from the main source of his current agitation - his obsession with his mentally ill, dependent, unresponsive brother. And in a style Havoc had not really seen in the mental health field, according to Al, Dr. Wall had bluntly expressed that opinion right to the younger Elric's face. That questionable style of therapy had proven to be every bit as remarkably bad as it had sounded when Al had sobbed about it, nearly incoherently, when Havoc first returned to the room.

That doctor had his opinion, but if he thought that would be sufficient to change Al's entire focus in life, he was mistaken. All he had managed to do was to hurt Alphonse deeply by implying that he would eventually have to accept that the close relationship he'd had with Ed was gone forever. The weight of the man's title made the impact of that verdict feel damning.

Havoc knew enough about Al to know that he would pay any price to reunite with Edward. By inflating the hopelessness of that quest, all the man had done was amplify Alphonse's distress nearly past his sanity level.

At one point his loss of control reached a level where the nurse had to come in to address the problem. Her call to the physician on duty resulted in the administration of extra painkiller to quiet him down. It only reduced the volume on his distress; he seemed to be feeling it just as acutely after he stopped disrupting the ward.

Maybe the worry over Ed's disappearance had been distracting Havoc. Once he heard that things were all right, he was able to concentrate on Al more effectively. He was finally winding down, finally listening to a few of the things Havoc was trying to reassure him with. The length and intensity of his upset was just not normal. Havoc hoped he wasn't crossing a line when he finally slid onto the too-stiff mattress, navigated carefully around the tubes and put his arm around Al's miserable, huddled shoulders, expressing his support as best he could. It seemed to be okay. Al leaned back into him.

"That doctor's opinion is just an opinion. You aren't being ordered to give up. He doesn't have a crystal ball or magical powers. He isn't telling the future or creating it," Havoc said now that Al seemed to be quiet and listening. "The way things were, before you talked to him, have not changed. The only thing that may have been affected is your attitude. And that's in your control, one hundred percent."

"It doesn't feel like I'm in control," Al said, hoarse and tired. He felt like he was unhinged, yet his behavior was still a thousand times closer to normal than Ed's. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe Ed was beyond help.

"You've been through the wringer today, that's why. You're upset, understandably upset. If it's any consolation, Al, I think he's totally wrong. Ed has been getting better. He might not ever be exactly the same as he was, but I don't believe for a minute that he's a lost cause."

"I know, I know, they can't just write him off. They might though. If that doctor had his way, he'd have Ed locked up in an institution somewhere. What if he becomes Ed's doctor?"

"The Colonel is Ed's guardian. He won't let that happen, because it's the wrong thing to do for him."

"But…" Al's voice started to crack. "But I'm afraid."

"No one can blame you for that." Havoc tightened his hold, because it seemed to be helping, and Al was responding by holding on to him as well. He figured this was a way to substitute a little of the support Al was used to getting from Edward. "Look, you have every right to be worried. But Ed isn't the only one with a support system here. We'll be looking out for you, too. I'll talk to the Colonel about this doctor. I don't know if we have any leeway, but if there's anything he can do about it, I'm going to ask if he can get you a different one."

"I don't want to see him again, and I don't want him to see Brother, ever."

"I know. I'll try. I'll see what I can do."

"You're sure he didn't have an appointment to see Ed? You're sure? I mean, he was here anyway, he might have had an appointment with him, too. He might have seen him before he saw me, or after."

"I can say with absolute certainty," Havoc said evasively, "that Edward did not see Dr. Wall today. So just get that worry right out of your head." It would be tough to keep an appointment when the patient was nowhere to be found; but Havoc had not seen any such appointment on Ed's posted schedule anyway.

The light tap at the door caught his attention; Al largely ignored it, tired of the constant flow of medical personnel and too wrung out to face the next interruption from them.

Hawkeye peered in and grimaced; this looked like something she shouldn't interrupt, but she needed to convey her information without delay and get back to assisting the Colonel with preparations for tomorrow. She waved for Havoc to join her in the hall, noting that the look on his face confirmed that he was in the midst of something difficult.

"Hey, Al," Havoc said quietly, resting his forehead against Al's troubled temple. "I need to step out for a just a minute to check on something. You just hold on, I'll be right back."

Al gripped tighter for a moment, then let go. "Yeah."

"I'll just be a minute." Havoc slipped off the bed, expecting more of reaction, but Al was silent.

Hawkeye was relieved when the door opened and Havoc stepped out quickly.

"Well?"

Hawkeye stepped back a few paces. "He's not up to listening at the door, is he?" she whispered.

"Hell no," Havoc said quietly.

"We found Ed and got him back safe. He'd taken off and gone halfway across the refuge."

"You're joking. That doesn't seem possible. He's okay, though?"

"More or less. Look, I'll fill you in on the details later. He's asleep in his bed now, Major Armstrong is going to stay with him tonight. You need to stay here and do your second shift with Al. Try and get some rest if you can. Things are going to be intense tomorrow once Fuhrer Bradley gets here. We need to make sure that things look calm and normal around the boys. The last thing the Colonel wants is for the Fuhrer to decide that they're disruptive or too much of a drain on the military resources. If he sees them at all, it would be best if they sort of blend in with the woodwork."

"I understand. Look, after the Fuhrer leaves, I want to hear everything."

"You got it. Just make sure you keep Al in sight. What's up, it looked like you were having to help him with something."

"Yeah, I'll tell you more later, it was that damned Dr. Wall. He basically told Al to give up on Ed because he might not be salvageable. Idiot. Al's been a wreck ever since. He's just now stopped crying his eyes out."

"So that's what their brilliant expert on torture victims came up with? What a waste. Poor Al."

Havoc nodded with a frown.

"I have to run. You take good care of Al, and don't worry too much about Ed, the Major's doing a good job taking care of him." She was already turning the leave, turning her mind to the next priority.

"And you take care of the Colonel," Havoc said, the unexpected words pausing Hawkeye in her tracks. Over her shoulder, she looked him in the eye just to check. He was not joking. "He's been under a lot of pressure, and he worries about these guys more than any of us. You know what that's probably doing to his sleep patterns."

Hawkeye nodded. They both knew that the Colonel's concern for his subordinates was his Achilles heel, the weak spot in his armor that gave him nightmares and drove him to overwork, exhaustion and occasionally to take unnecessary personal risks in order to keep his people protected. "I've got my eye on him."

The aide rolling stacked dinner trays stopped next to them. Hawkeye flicked a wrist in goodbye and took off down the hall double-time. Havoc went back into the room with the food-service delivery, appreciating the attention to detail that there was one for each of them. It was time to start work on getting Al to eat something.

xxxxxx

Morning was approaching, and Mustang had managed to rise before the sun in spite of the fact that once again he'd had a mere two hours of sleep. The shower helped to get his heart pumping; but it was the pressure that really set him in motion. Things had to go well today. There had been a series of performance issues with the teams that he'd visited in the field; he was going to have to explain the steps he was taking to address them. The rest of the items they would likely be asking about had been resolved; all except Edward and Alphonse's situation. Ed's permission to reside at the base was strictly at the Fuhrer's discretion, and it was vital that the Fuhrer did not see anything that would cause him to doubt or reverse his decision to allow Ed to stay here as Mustang's dependent.

He felt the sting of the small, hard jets of water on a distant, irrelevant level compared to his immersion in strategizing for the day. He turned his thoughts back to the task at hand by taking a deep, head-clearing breath while holding the bar of strong deodorant soap right under his nose. He finished lathering up his tension-tightened body, and hurried to rinse off and get moving. Too much time could be lost in mulling things over in the shower, a lesson he'd learned the hard way long ago.

He toweled off and worked though a handful of movements to warm up before dressing in his newest blues. He'd spit-polished his shoes to a mirror shine the night before.

When he set out for the base, his first stop was going to be Ed's room, to make sure the stage had been set so that any contact with the Fuhrer would be as unobtrusive as possible.

The staccato cry of a lone bird seemed to follow him as he made his way to the building in the damp, heavy predawn air. With a deep breath of preparation, he paused at the door before flinging it wide and making his entrance.  
_Almost showtime._

_tbc_


	17. Chapter 17

_Another chapter up! Hope you're still finding it worth reading. Your comments have been a great help, it's important to have your feedback; thank you! and now..._

**Chapter 17**

"How is he this morning?" Mustang asked as he approached the imposing figure standing guard at the entrance to Ed's room. He spoke in a subdued voices, still discreetly hidden from Ed's sight in the hallway

"Colonel," the Major greeted in a hushed tone, moving a few strides from the entrance to meet him. "He's quiet. But he seems a little under the weather. He suffered a host of minor injuries from his activities yesterday. Totally refusing food, but I don't believe it's bad behavior. It seems that his stomach is bothering him again."

"How about you, Major? Did you get any rest?"

"Enough to suffice. He slept the night through. The sedation was heavy enough to allow me to tend to his injuries without waking him. The repeated cold compresses and such." When Mustang nodded and began to move again, heading for the doorway to enter Ed's room, Armstrong held up a hand in caution. "But, sir, a word with you, please?"

"Of course." Redirected, he followed a few more steps until they were a bit further away but still able to view the doorway clearly.

"He had some misgivings about what happened yesterday. From what I've managed to glean from his ramblings, he's convinced that you sent him out on that trek he took and weren't going to let him return."

"Me? He clearly said that it was me, that I instructed him to leave?"

"Yes sir, by name, more than once. He believes it."

"Does he seem to have some reason for thinking that?"

"No, sir. He says he came down to his room to rest, and that you showed up before he fell asleep. That you made him go, even though he didn't want to."

"Dreaming, Major? That must have been some dream. What on earth kind of orders could I have given him that would send him out that far? Did he say that I told him to go as far as his physical limit, or what?"

"Well, he…he doesn't believe that he went alone. He thinks you made him follow you. You led him all the way, caused the injury to his shoulder, and then left him there."

"Surely, with all that was happening, he wasn't asleep the whole time. Navigating his way through so many obstacles, all the falling down, getting hurt…it couldn't possibly be dreaming or sleepwalking, then, not to that extent. So he's been hallucinating, or delusional. Is that what you're telling me?"

"It may be the only answer. I don't know how the incident got started. And I have to say, he got all of that off his chest while I was attempting to settle him down and get him tucked away for the night. I haven't broached the subject this morning, and he's not had anything to say since he woke up. But I thought that you should be aware in case he still holds that belief. I don't know how he'll react to you if you go in."

"Well, it's almost certain that I'll have to go in later today, so I'm glad that you've told me this. I can't have him making accusations or having some sort of wild reaction to me when I come in with Fuhrer Bradley." Mustang rubbed his face in thought. "We'll need to stick to my original orders then. Hawkeye should be here to spell you soon, and she's going to be in charge of keeping Ed sedated at the walking dead level. I'll skip going in to see him now. He's probably still unstable, and we just don't have time to risk reasoning with him. Do you agree that's prudent?"

"I do. He's extremely uncomfortable and still exhausted. I think it would be best if we wait until he gets his bearings before we make the effort to start bringing him back in synch with reality."

"Thank you, Major, well done. Carry on and when the Lieutenant arrives, emphasize the need to keep him just barely responsive. He needs to be conscious so they can see that he's somewhat functional, but I can't have him making any conversation. I may not get a chance to brief her again before she takes over your post, so make sure she understands what needs to be done."

"Yes sir, of course."

Armstrong returned to Ed's battered awareness when he re-entered the room, grateful for the Colonel's understanding. He took the chair by the bed again to resume his attempt to get Ed to sip some ginger ale to settle his stomach.

Ed took a swallow and turned away when the action churned up strong feelings of nausea. He'd made the effort and the result had been exactly what he expected, he still felt awful. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress the urge to be ill, startling slightly when the Major put a hand on his arm. The hand remained, and anchored with that bit of security, he drifted uncomfortably back into half-sleep once more.

xxxxx

"In here, Sir," Mustang said, wishing like hell he didn't have to let them do this. "As I mentioned, we avoid sudden movement or loud noises."

Bradley stepped in first, finding himself a bit crowded as Kimblee was pushing forward, too, eager to get a look at Edward in his state of extreme mental disability.

Ed was seated in a chair by the bed. Hawkeye nodded and after a capable salute that was returned by all, stepped out into the hallway to make room in the small space.

When Riza walked away, Ed half-rose unsteadily, his instincts telling him to stay with her. But he was far too drugged to follow through, and instead swayed with his head tipped to the side away from his automail arm, trying to find equilibrium. Had Mustang not stepped up and taken his arm to steady him, he likely would have fallen as he straightened, still focused on trying to stand until he achieved an upright position.

Ed pulled his head back with wobbly lack of control, and tried unsuccessfully to focus on who was holding him up.

It was snowing harder now, so hard he couldn't really see anything but shapes. Sound was muffled, too. Or maybe it was cotton, little cotton balls filling up the room. It wasn't cold or wet, it was soft and light and a little too warm. After a few steps Lieutenant Hawkeye had disappeared into the blank white haze, taking with her the last threads of his connection with his true surroundings. The shapes that moved around him just beyond his perception were on another wavelength. He was this cocoon all alone now, losing interest in what might be happening beyond it. Something was holding his arm, perhaps. After the initial effort to see who or what it was failed, he gave up. It was too much trouble to try and see what was really there. If he thought too hard, there was a great deal of pain waiting to be let back in, so he wasn't inclined to think much at all. It was really comfortable here, like this. He couldn't remember feeling so completely comfortable ever before.

"Hello, Edward." the Fuhrer said with exaggerated warmth.

The voice's pitch was unfamiliar, and it came from the wrong direction to be the object steadying him. He flinched at the sound, not catching the words. It disturbed his artificial calm for a second

"That wasn't loud," Kimblee said. "Why'd he jump?"

Bradley stepped closer and dropped his smile. "My word, he doesn't even seem to understand that we're here. Edward?"

Major Kimblee's widening half-smile was not disarming. Quite the opposite.

"Look at him, you're right - he really doesn't get it. How about that. You really are fucked up in the head now, aren't you, Fullmetal?" Kimblee said in a bemused voice. He didn't miss a beat in reaching out and grasping the hem of the gray t-shirt, lifting it up and nearly off to see Ed's vulnerable torso. A low whistle escaped him. "Holy shit. What did they use on him, hand grenades?"

He started to tug down the sweatpants, and Mustang moved in the way, catching the loose cotton to prevent any further display.

"You've seen a good representation already. It's the same thing on pretty much every square inch of his body. He gets chilled pretty easily, we need to keep him dressed."

"Looking out for his modesty? That's cute, Roy," Kimblee smirked. "But we're here to see Edward's condition for ourselves."

"No, Major, he's right - undressing him really isn't necessary. I think his concern is admirable," Bradley postured. "Colonel Mustang has obviously been a responsible and attentive guardian for Edward."

Mustang dipped his chin in grateful acknowledgement.

"Has it been like this all along, Mustang?" the Fuhrer asked skeptically. "They were reluctant to release him from institutional care, as I recall. Felt he might be too self-destructive and unpredictable. I just don't see where he seems capable of that much disruptive activity."

"He's not disruptive now that he's acclimated. Everyone here is aware of his condition and where he tends to be and what he tends to be doing. He's a fixture around here now. It's been working out well enough."

The blurry foreground wasn't quiet or completely white anymore. Murky shapes moved in and out of his personal cloud, and an irregular pattern of noises tried to bother his ears, but couldn't quite penetrate the haze. That suited Ed just fine. There was motion against his body, but he remained closed down, hunkering in, secure in the ability to ignore it.

Kimblee was squinting as he stared intently into Ed's unfocused eyes. When the amber orbs closed briefly, he boggled at what he saw. "Unreal! Look! Will you look at that! I just noticed. What the hell happened to his eyelids? There must be a dozen scars on each one. Did you see them, Fuhrer? These fine, hairline ridges here?"

Mustang hated to recall the dark details called up by that question. He swallowed his reluctance and addressed it with the cold facts.

"We don't know everything that happened for sure. We did determine that those particular wounds were the result of metal pins. We assumed the purpose was to force his eyes to stay open, and at some point he managed to tear them loose. There were a couple of pins still partially embedded when we found him, or we might never have known how those strange injuries were inflicted."

"Pins? As in, like pins and needles?"

"Exactly. Common tailor's pins, woven through the lid in several places and through the skin just below the brow, then bent to secure them." Mustang remained businesslike despite the twist that his gut always gave him when he recalled some of the more disturbing details. Most of this was readily available in reports, so there was no excuse not to convey the information when asked. The way Bradley was nodding, not particularly shocked, it was a safe bet that he already knew this somewhat.

"Very clever. And common pins would be a trifle dull, so much more painful and disturbing for the victim. Such artistic attention to detail! And that's just minutia compared to the volume and variety of the work evidenced here. I'm thoroughly impressed." Kimblee was looking even closer now, hoping for more fascinating tidbits. He was clearly more excited than shocked or sympathetic. "That had to have been quite a sight when you found him. And, man, when all the stitches were still in...he must have looked like a monster."

"Frankly, if it wasn't for the automail, we couldn't have identified him right off; as for the stitches, he was covered in them. It's a miracle he survived at all."

"And the discoloration on his forehead?"

"The purplish area is from what appeared to be burns. Unknown what the red area is the result of. It was thought to be bruising when he was found, but as you can see from its permanence, that must not have been the case."

"Sorry if this seems to have turned into a 'q and a'. But really, Mustang, this is still a staggeringly damaged young man. I really had no idea just how thoroughly he's been disabled. I must apologize to you for burdening you with this. I'm impressed that you stepped up and handled this without complaint; that's something I can admire, since from what I see this has probably been an extremely tedious task to be saddled with. You've done so well, I can't see punishing you by obligating you any longer. I have staff at Central that can be assigned to take care of this. We can swing by again when our trip is done and take Edward back with us. Alphonse as well."

Mustang swallowed hard and thought fast, carefully keeping his demeanor professional and unemotional.

"Sir. With all due respect, I feel bound to take care of them myself. It was my doing getting Edward enlisted. And Ed's used to these surroundings. As far as I can tell, it's the only thing that gives him any form of security." His blood ran cold at Bradley's referral to the boys' care as if it were a menial, unpleasant task. If it was presented as that kind of a detail to whomever was going to care for them, he was loathe to imagine the treatment they might endure, left to some untrained stranger's possibly resentful, minimal custodianship.

Ed renewed his slow, heavy attempt to grasp what might be making those noises at him, but it was largely a failure. He was dumb and helplessly unable to focus enough to take in what was happening. But when Bradley had spoken, one provoking word of his speech knifed through and pinned Ed with a flash of awareness: Alphonse.

"Pardon my saying so, Colonel, but I don't believe he would know if there were any changes in his surroundings."

"Please don't be misled, sir. It's the medication. He was a little worked up, and with your visit, I ordered him lightly sedated. I apologize for that, I didn't know you were so interested in seeing him, or I would not have. He is very attached to his sleeping quarters and his daily routine. He is very sensitive to any change in his care, and new faces disturb him a great deal. As I said, that's why we sedated him."

"Ahhl." Ed was trying to make his numb, slack mouth obey. He wanted to hear that word repeated. He wanted to know why the earth seemed to quake when he heard that provoking set of sounds. _Al-fonse._

"I see." Bradley observed as Kimblee went nose-to-nose with Edward, thumbing his eyelids open wider and taking him by the chin to tilt his head from side to side.

"He is doped up all right. Look at that mess under his jaw, and this all around the sides of his neck. I'll bet it goes all the way down…" Kimblee pulled the neck of the shirt out and peered down the back. "Amazing. If you'd described this to me and said he survived it, I'd have called you a liar. Were there pictures? I would love to see some images of what this looked like when it first happened. What are these bandages on his shoulder for? Does he still hurt himself?"

"See, there, Major Kimblee, this trip isn't as boring as you feared," Bradley smiled. "Always something interesting where the Elrics are concerned."

"He just had a little accident, he doesn't hurt himself on purpose anymore. If there are any pictures, I certainly don't remember seeing them, but you could ask the medical staff. They took x-rays, that's the only thing I know for sure. Our hands were a bit full to be taking time out for anything non-essential." Mustang wasn't sure himself why he told that complete lie, other than the fact that he hated the way Kimblee seemed to be relishing the idea of Ed's torture. There were pictures, plenty of them, most in his own possession and tucked away for evidence. The infirmary had taken some of their own. It was sickening to look at them, but he had forced himself to go over them carefully, looking for clues back when no one knew much about what had actually happened. Looking at them had dampened his hope that Ed could be salvaged at all.

"Shall we move along and see the younger brother, then? Perhaps we could bring Edward along with us; I'm sure that a nice visit with Alphonse would make his day."

Ed made another attempt to repeat that word but only came up with a groan. The noises were still there but everything else had disappeared into the fluffy nothingness again. He was tired again, and it reminded him that too much effort could only bring him grief. It might make his time living here among the clouds that much shorter. He settled for playing with that word in his head until it slowly dawned on him that it was someone's name.

"I'm afraid that's problematic," Mustang said, concealing his alarm. "He gets a little out of hand sometimes in the infirmary. That's the one place he does tend to be disruptive. Not that I blame him; his memories of his stay there are pretty disturbing. We can't really take him there just to visit."

"Like this? Come on, get real. He can't get out of hand, he's practically zombified. Mustang, is he always this warm?" Kimblee challenged.

"He can still cause problems, even when he's sedated, if he's placed in a difficult situation. Don't let his demeanor fool you. And as for him being warm…is he overly warm? I hadn't noticed."

Ed's eyes closed as his thoughts took hold of that familiar name and chased themselves in circles, uncovering little pieces of awareness about his brother. He lent himself to the effort so thoroughly that his mind deserted control of his drug-numbed body; his muscles all slacked and he collapsed sideways in a boneless heap.

"Oh, my, and does he do that often?" Kimblee asked, eyebrows raised, watching instead of reaching out to prevent a potentially damaging fall.

It was Mustang whose hands darted out just in time to save the fair-haired head from nailing the hard floor. "Whoa, there, Ed," he said under his breath, lifting the now-limp young man and feeling annoyed at having to crowd past Kimblee to settle him on the bed. He was very warm, and that was worrisome. Ed was usually cold to the touch, almost distressingly so. "No, he doesn't do that often. But he doesn't often have strange people in his quarters. As I said, he's dependent on his routine and his personal space."

"You're quite good with him. I am impressed. I wouldn't have thought you had it in you; but I suppose even old war horses like us still have a soft spot for a downed soldier. I'll continue to leave him in your care for the time being, since you're willing, Colonel. You can stay here with him while we go see his brother if you prefer. I'm sure the Lieutenant wouldn't mind showing us the way. "

"I'll stay with him," Kimblee said. "I find his condition fascinating."

"As much as I'd like to accommodate your curiosity, Major, he seems to be in need of some rest. Lieutenant Hawkeye can watch over him while we visit the infirmary. I suggest we head over there now, this has taken up quite a bit of your inspection time." The last thing he intended to do was leave Kimblee alone with Edward, especially while Ed was so defenseless. The man had been ruthlessly violating Ed's personal space right in front of all of them; he didn't want to think about the things that he might do if there were no witnesses.

"Of course, let's move along then, by all means. But don't bother yourself about the inspections. We don't really need to waste time with all that. I'm confident that your facilities are well maintained; you always earn gold stars anyway." The Fuhrer wore a satisfied smile as he stepped close to the bed and leaned over to get a better last look, creating a vulture-like image in Mustang's perception. "You rest well, young man. "

_Alphonse_. A swirl of foggy pressure ramped up and pushed aside the artificial calm, rupturing and releasing a pocket of repressed memories associated with that name. He could hear his own voice, clearly, calling his little brother's name into the clouds. Calling him in laughter while they played in the mud. Calling to him in worry when neither of them knew what to do to make their mother stop getting sicker and sicker. Calling out to him in horror as he died and was sucked away nearly beyond reach, demanding that he be returned at any price. Like cold, undead hands reaching out from the mist of the Gate, he felt the familiar grip of the bottomless, hollow grieving that took over whenever he though of losing Al. An old passion rose up and surged into his heart. He would do anything, give anything, survive anything to see him restored. Anything. The shift from sweet, blissful ignorance straight into his deepest well of regret and sorrow was swift and merciless. He swiftly submerged in the guilt and the hopeless obsession with righting his wrongs.

These thoughts sent him tossing side to side, restless at the loss of comfort in his drugged sleep. Hawkeye detected that his fever was rising and nervously sat with him, waiting for that damnable Bradley to leave so they could take proper care of Edward.

xxxxxxx

"So, how is poor Alphonse? It's a miracle, isn't it, finding him lost in the woods after all this time? Was it amnesia?" Bradley asked as they entered the glass doors. He smiled at the nurse's reaction, amused to see the obvious boggling and nervous salute at his unexpected appearance. He returned the salute smartly and motioned for Mustang to continue leading the way.

"It seems that he was trapped underground when Ed was injured, and when he made his way out, he was lost," Mustang said flatly. Surely the Fuhrer had received reports about Alphonse's unusual circumstance. The doctors had taken the modified version of the events as gospel and asked little else. He certainly wasn't going to volunteer anything that might arouse suspicion.

"Yes, nothing short of a miracle."

"He was in crap shape when you found him, from what I heard," Kimblee chimed in.

"That's almost too generous. He was in very poor condition. Exposure, malnutrition, the lot. He was lost out there for many months, so it's not surprising."

They reached the door and Mustang rapped, barely making that warning heard before Kimblee went past and pushed through the door, not waiting for a response.

Havoc jumped to his feet and snapped to attention.

Bradley returned the salute without pausing as he entered. "You can be at ease, Second Lieutenant Havoc. We're just here for an informal, friendly visit."

The Fuhrer stepped closer and fixed his cool gaze on the wide-open brown eyes. This was more like he was expecting from Fullmetal, much more lively and aware. "My, my, young Alphonse Elric. This is quite remarkable. I do have to say, you are not quite the fellow I envisioned."

"I'm not?" Alphonse asked meekly. He had been warned of the possibility that this visit might occur. The Fuhrer was a daunting presence. He had been told that any misstep might have dire consequences for Edward. Al was almost afraid to breathe.

The Fuhrer's nose crinkled as he smiled. "I don't mean anything by that. It's wonderful to see you doing so well. I apologize for not bringing Edward along with us on this visit. He seemed to be a bit under the weather."

Al's reaction to his brother's name couldn't have been more obvious if he'd plastered it on a billboard. His head perked up and the rapt, breathless look was plain for all to see.

"He's sick?" Al asked in a whisper.

Havoc tensed but kept it well hidden. This was just the direction he had desperately hoped the conversation would not go in. So of course, the first subject to come up had to be Edward.

"He's just tired, Al. Nothing you need to be worried about," Mustang said, allowing his tone to soften in spite of his commanding officer's presence.

Al looked from face to face and his brave front slowly collapsed, starting with a shaking lower lip and ending up with his head in his hands, trembling. He was struggling valiantly to regain his composure. He'd been ready for just about anything except bad news, fresh from just a few buildings away, about Ed's health.

"Oh! Well, Alphonse, don't take it so hard. He's fine. Just, yes, as Colonel Mustang says, he's merely tired. Our visit was a little too much exertion for him. Once he gets some rest, I'm sure you'll get to see him again."

"You do get to see him, don't you?" Kimblee asked bluntly, nosy and undaunted. He was examining the medications hanging from the stand, and giving Al a sharp looking over. "What happened to your nose?"

Al was still shaken over the phrase 'I'm sure you'll get to see him again.' He felt the urge to grab the Fuhrer and wail at him that Mustang hadn't allowed him to see Ed, that he was keeping them apart. Bradley could make it an order, he could force the Colonel to let them stay together.

It wasn't that he was afraid to do it. There was very little that scared him so much that it would stop him from trying to see Ed. But there was still the warning to consider. The warning that if things did not appear to be going smoothly, that the Fuhrer might deem them too troublesome to allow them to stay. And for the moment, Al had to admit, it would be disastrous for Ed if he were turned out into an uncontrolled environment. Al knew he would manage to get them back home somehow, but he had grave doubts that the trip could be accomplished with a great deal of risk to Edward's well-being.

"I said," Kimblee repeated, slower, louder, and while taking a grip on Al's chin to try and turn his face up, "what happened to your nose?"

"A rat bit it," Al said, barely audible. He found a little more volume when he added, "and my toe."

He had been told not to lie about his injuries. The hospital staff all knew anyway.

"Geeze, a rat? Mustang, what kind of sewer are you running here? Fuhrer Bradley, I think we need to do that inspection after all. Maybe take an extra day to check things out around here."

"Hold up now," Bradley said. "Alphonse, a rat? What on earth happened?"

"I…" he frowned as he gathered his courage to pull off his story. "I thought it was a lost pet rat, and I picked it up. But it wasn't a pet."

"Oooh. " Kimblee looked at him with a sour expression. "Would you normally know better than that? Or have you always made that kind of stupid mistake?"

"Major Kimblee!" Mustang said in reproach.

"Hey! I'm just trying to establish if this is an I.Q. thing or if he's a little off his rocker, too."

Mustang's head began to shake sideways in warning irritation.

"I believe I asked Alphonse a question," Bradley said with a chilly stare that stopped the interaction between his officers. "and I don't believe you've allowed him to finish his answer."

Al pulled back from Kimblee's touch.

"So, Alphonse, continue. You picked it up..?"

"I never saw a wild rat before, not anywhere. I didn't know. It panicked, I think. And the rat bites made me sick, so…I'm still here."

Kimblee started to pull up the blanket. "Where else did it get you?"

Al snagged the blanket back in a sudden, unexpected rush of indignation. The end of the blanket popped up and the wrapped toe was exposed. "Just my toe. And you don't need to look at anything else."

Bradley snickered at that. "Very good, son. That's quite correct."

Kimblee grumbled. What good were kids if he couldn't push 'em around for fun?

Al seemed to be a bit flushed now. Havoc stood immobile, blending with the walls, waiting for them to leave so he could help Al calm down.

"Young man, I hope you continue to improve. It's wonderful to see your recovery. And I want you to know, if you and Edward would like, the two of you are more than welcome to join me at the executive wing in Central. I think I can give the two of you some very satisfactory accommodations, and I assure you, even though you weren't in the military, Alphonse, I have no objection to letting you both stay there together. I mean, if you're sharing quarters, it's as easy to house two as it is to house one." Bradley smiled benignly, his eyes crinkling shut.

Mustang and Havoc both felt the shock of dread at the same time. This was everything Al had been fighting them tooth and nail for, and it was being offered up on a platter. The offer was clear: the boy had only to say the word, and he would be reunited with Edward once more.

Al was blinking at Kimblee and Bradley, looking from one to the other, and only glancing at Mustang. He was not meeting Havoc's eyes at all. It was not looking good.

"Wow, Al, that offer is quite an honor," Havoc broke in, using the warmest tone he could get away with in the present company. He met Al's startled gaze with a steady look and a smile. "Things wouldn't be quite the same here without you."

Al was instantly torn. Havoc represented the hard road he should take to do things correctly. Bradley instead offered a risky but much swifter shortcut to reach his goal.

"You don't have to decide now, son," Bradley said. "We're just setting out and won't be back in Central for a good three weeks or more. I most assuredly would want to be there to settle you in. And of course, Major Kimblee would need to be there; I think he'd be the ideal person to be in charge of things. After all, we'd need someone to help you make sure Edward behaves himself. If you decide to join us, just let Colonel Mustang know. He can make the arrangements."

Alphonse eyed Kimblee suspiciously.

"You bet. I'd be glad to help you boys out," Kimblee said, clearly hoping for the opportunity.

That willingness chilled Al to the bone, and stopped his reply in his throat.

"As I said, you can think about it."

"Yes, sir. I'll think about it." But Kimblee's predatory smile when the Fuhrer spoke of making sure Ed behaved himself had already cinched Al's decision.

xxx

Hawkeye dribbled water on Ed's hot, dry lips, getting a few drops in him at a time, and getting more than just a little frustrated at the situation.

Her best guess was that his fever was up around a hundred and one. Not serious in itself, but because of his compromised immune system, he needed to go to the infirmary to get it checked out as soon as possible. There was no telling what he might have come in contact with, or been bitten by, out there in the refuge area.

But it would have to wait until Bradley and Kimblee were gone. In the meanwhile, her job was to make sure he was too sedated to communicate should the men return for another visit. The sound of hard-soled shoes grew closer in the hall, making her wish fervently for them to go in some other direction.

"Lieutenant," came the subdued call from the doorway.

"Major," she sighed in relief.

"Master Sergeant Fuery directed me to check in; he said that our visitors had moved on to see Alphonse."

"They did. With any luck, they won't come back."

"How did it go?"

"They were awful to him, but I doubt he knew it. Poking at him, talking about him as if he wasn't there. He's got a fever, too, maybe from all the exertion. I wish they'd hurry up and leave. I'd like to get him bathed, and get someone from the infirmary to come have a look at him, and I can't do that until they go."

"You're right, he's far too warm," Armstrong said after touching a careful hand to the pale forehead. There was no reaction. "He's still medicated, I hope? This lack of response isn't because he's ill?"

"He's still heavily sedated, I have to keep him that way in case they come back to see him again before they leave. It was a good thing, too. They did their best to get him to respond to them."

"I wanted to check his wound there, let me have a look." Armstrong rolled Ed sideways and peeled his shirt up. "Saints alive, look at that!"

Thick yellowish matter with threads of dark red had oozed out past the capacity of the bandages to contain it. Ed's entire shoulder was bright red and flaming hot to the touch.

"Alex, that's horrible!" Hawkeye blurted.

He looked around to retrieve the first aid kit again. "I can't imagine that this will do much good but we can't just leave it like this. I'll do the best I can for now." He wasn't so sure after he peeled off the bandages. The wound was nearly alive with infection and inflammation. He gingerly cleaned it up anyway and pressed on clean bandages. The odor from the wound itself was incredible while uncovered, nearly gagging Hawkeye from three feet away.

"Damn them, they need to get going."

"Quite. Lieutenant, one of us should go see how much longer they're going to be. If it's going to be another day, we need to tell the Colonel that this can't wait. If we're going to be forced to seek help for him while the Fuhrer is still here, then we shouldn't delay it another minute."

"I agree with you, Major. But the Colonel ordered me to stay here with him, so you'll have to be the one to do the reconnaissance."

"With pleasure. Watch him closely."

The Major thought quickly and went to the Lieutenant's desk, where Master Sergeant Fuery was filling in, taking calls and waiting nervously.

"Major," he said, glad for the company. "The Colonel's still out with Fuhrer Bradley and Major Kimblee."

"As I thought. I need to have a quick word with him."

"He's not to be disturbed. His orders were very specific."

"Did they mention how long they would be staying?"

"I heard them saying that their schedule was 'flexible'. So I guess that means we'll know when they're leaving when they leave."

"Curses. This makes it difficult to know what to do."

"Major?"

"It's Edward. He needs medical attention, and soon. But I know that the Colonel would want this held off until his inspection is over, if at all possible. This won't be able to wait a full day. I'd hate to delay seeking treatment if they're going to find out about it anyway."

"It's been almost two hours since they left. They had lunch before that, right after they arrived. What all they planned to inspect, I have no idea. Except that they were on their way to see Ed when they first started out."

They fell silent as familiar voices approached.

"…not able to perform alchemy? Really? As I recall, he was nearly as proficient as his brother."

"The one attempt I saw him make failed completely. I supposed he's just in need of some rehabilitation, but it was unexpected. Of course, he's got other things to deal with first." The Colonel's dark eyes flashed with warning when he saw the Major.

Armstrong saluted crisply and cleared his throat. Fuery popped up to attention behind him as well.

"At ease, gentlemen. Good to see you looking so well, Major. How is your dear sister faring these days, might I ask? Does the cold weather suit her?" Bradley asked.

"Sir! Thank you, sir. My sister is well and has no complaints that I am aware of."

"Well, that's marvelous news. I must remember to drop her a line sometime."

"Major," Mustang said with a hint of displeasure in his voice. "Is there something you wish to report?"

"No, sir. Just checking the duty roster before returning to my post."

"I see. Before you do, notify Fuhrer Bradley's driver that he needs to have the car ready and at the front steps by sixteen-hundred."

"Right away, sir." Armstrong saluted and held it until dismissed, making short time of the hallway to go find the driver. They were leaving in an hour. That was good news, indeed.

xxxx

The world had darkened, morphing directly from whitest white to a dark, red-tinged black. It was too hot, and his head spun with fever and pain, and the nausea was making his throat fill constantly with a ridiculous volume of saliva. The nausea centered not in his stomach but in his shoulder, as if his confused body had somehow had his organs rearranged.

They were moving him but he was too fixed on his internal distress for it to sink in. Sick, he knew he was terribly sick, and he couldn't afford to be so weak. He had to get his mind clear again, clear enough to figure out how he was going to get his brother back. Between the disorienting illness and his obsessive internal dialogue, he was completely unresponsive to his caregivers.

"All the straps are secure. Roll him on out," Armstrong said. Hawkeye followed closely as the medics maneuvered the tall wheeled stretcher into the hallway.

"One hundred and three. Keep his head turned in case he starts heaving again." The taller medic used one hand to push and the other to steady the diagnostic equipment to keep it from sliding off Ed's sheet-covered chest.

The officers lagged back to stay out of the way now. "So when did the Colonel give you the all-clear?"

Hawkeye's gaze flew up to Armstrong's in surprise. "He didn't! Didn't you make the call?"

"No. I thought you did!" Armstrong turned, ready to pursue the medics and demand their identification before letting them go any further.

"Well," Mustang's voice caught them by surprise. "It's because I did."

"Colonel!"

"I could tell he had a fever when I was in with him earlier. Seeing the Major stretch orders by showing up at your desk was the only clue I needed. How bad is he?"

"Infection has set in to his shoulder. He may have blood poisoning, from the look of it."

"One of you follow up and report back as soon as his condition is diagnosed. Go now, I don't want any breaks in that 24-hour watch."

"Yes, Colonel," Hawkeye straightened and saluted. The Major snapped to attention and saluted as well.

Mustang shook his head and gave a weary salute back, then waved his hand to motion them to go. He'd had his fill of such protocols today. He watched them clomp down the hallway double-time to catch up with the medical techs, already around the corner and going out through the main doors.

Damn that Kimblee, he'd made one last plea to the Fuhrer before they left, insinuating that they should take the boys regardless of their wishes, or Mustang's, for that matter. The old man had turned him down on the spot. Still, it was too early to bank on that decision. Kimblee was going to be in the field with Bradley, yipping in his ear, for three long weeks.

Down the empty hall, around the corner, and then past Fuery's nervous gaze, he moved along mechanically, without a word. Mustang retreated into his office and closed and locked the door. It had been a very, very long time since he'd had a drink alone. The bottle in his desk had been there waiting, its presence normally enough, the idea that he was free to take that bit of relief had long sufficed. Today just the company of the bottle was not going to cut it. When he closed his eyes, he imagined the pins in his own eyelids and shuddered. He opened them quickly, shaking his head, and decided to skip the glass, taking a deep swig of the warm bourbon straight out of the bottle. He took a second long draw, palmed the stopper back in tight, and tucked it away in his drawer once more.

_It's five already. Happy hour. What a ridiculous term._ He laid his head on the desk next to the phone, waiting for the call about Ed's condition, and let the alcohol take the knots out. _Ten minutes_, he thought. _I just need ten minutes. Then I'll unlocked the door and let the world back in._

In five he was slack-jawed and softly snoring.

_tbc_


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you for reading & reviewing, and hanging in there..._

**Chapter 18**

The doctor on duty recognized Ed first. Then he recognized the infection. As with Alphonse, he ordered the battery of antibiotic treatments and immune system support. There was a flurry of activity at first, inducing sedated sleep, cleaning out the wound again, setting up medication lines and taking innumerable test samples.

Once the pace slowed and the patient was installed in a regular bed, the doctor waited until they were left alone and took advantage of the solitude. It was better to have a little privacy before he took the time to study him more carefully, reluctantly remembering the various causes for the marred flesh that now comprised the bleak landscape of his body.

So young. The life that lay ahead was probably worth the price of this continued suffering. At least, there was a fighting chance that it would be, eventually.

His shoulder was so inflamed that it seemed to glow like an ember against the tired white linens. It was uncomfortably hot to the touch. They had drained copious amounts of the reeking pus from the area, and when the results of the imaging came back, it was likely that he would be doing minor surgery. It would be advisable to remove the most damaged area of tissue; it would only serve to harbor the infection and hamper the efforts to destroy it.

Back to the unanswered question again. Was this unique to the boys somehow? So far it was. But was it because of who they were…or because of some shared element in what had happened to both of them?

The medications had stopped the meteoric rise in his fever, but were maddeningly slow to lower it. As with Alphonse, they kept him out for now. This stage was best forgotten. There was no benefit or reason in having him awake to suffer through it. He was being wrapped and re-wrapped in cold, wet sheets to assist in lowering his temperature. Not something that he would have enjoyed, either.

"Dr. Gansworth?" Hawkeye opened the door cautiously.

"Come in, Lieutenant. You won't be disturbing him. Or me." The sight of Ed's old wounds had already been disturbing enough.

"How is he?"

"I would describe his condition as guarded. I need to ask you about his general health. I can't say as I'm impressed with his upkeep. Food, Lieutenant. He should be fed now and again. This comes as news to you, I take it?"

"We try, Doctor. We force him at times."

"It can be an indicator of many grave things when a person doesn't eat. Why wasn't this referred to staff here?"

"It just seemed behavioral. It's not new, it's been ongoing, it isn't a change from when he was released from Psych. They addressed it in the ward, but their results were worse than ours." Hawkeye grew defensive at the implication that Ed was being neglected.

"Worse? He'd be bedridden with malnutrition if it was any worse. He can't be left to degrade like this. Now look. This infection is a far more robust than he is. All the battling will have to be done chemically and with surgery. His system has succumbed without a fight."

Hawkeye met his stare and answered bluntly. "You tell me what to do for him, and I will. We followed all the aftercare instructions they gave us when they released him. We've tried to balance his needs. It isn't easy, ever."

Her intensity backed the doctor down a bit; he could see that his suspicions of neglect were way off-base. There was no mistaking that she cared a great deal about the young man's well-being. His tone softened. "Has he been depressed?"

"He's certainly had those moments. But to pin him to some primary state of mind? Good luck. He's all over the map, all the time. It changes from one minute to the next. It's hard for us and it's worse for him. He remembers, he doesn't remember, he's shifting from one facet of his personality to the next…he starts to trust, and in the next moment, he knows nothing but fear."

Gansworth nodded, as if it made sense. "So he is reviving."

Hawkeye gave him a questioning look.

"Reviving. He's likely experiencing the psychological equivalent of that feeling you get when your foot first wakes up after it's been asleep. Look, I've been involved in his case off and on since the beginning…since that first night they brought him here in shreds. I was the one who worked up most of his labs and did most of the corrective surgeries after he was placed in long-term confinement. I followed along with his progress; even when I wasn't on a specific assignment, I must admit. You really don't come across something that unsettling very often. I saw how introverted and locked down he had become. That syndrome was as much of a trap as it was a shelter, something that kept him from interacting while protecting him from reality. It sounds like his mind must finally be breaking down and setting him free."

"He does seem to be more aware. But his rationality hasn't been making the same progress."

"This is a critical stage for him. He needs a great deal of support if he's ever to regain his autonomy. Keeping in mind, of course, that with his experiences, I would not expect him to ever fully recover. But at some point, he will improve to whatever level of self-reliance he's going to achieve. Now is the time to be proactive in helping him with that process."

"So what do you suggest?"

"I noticed in the scheduling that Dr. Wall has been assigned to the younger brother. Now would be a good time to…"

"Not Dr. Wall. Name somebody else."

"Well, Lieutenant, we don't exactly have a bevy of trauma psychologists at our disposal. I suggest that you have Dr. Wall come by and at least work up a current evaluation."

"Once was plenty. We've seen enough of his work. Colonel Mustang is submitting a request to have him removed from Alphonse's case, too. Isn't there someone else?"

"Removed from the brother's case? Why?"

"He's advised Al to give up on Ed. That's not helpful, Doctor. Not if you knew these boys like we do. Al will never give up on his brother. It just hurts and upsets him to hear things like that."

"Look, you must be mistaken. It would be unheard of for a psychologist to make such a blunt recommendation to a patient, and certainly not on an initial evaluation. The procedures are pretty standard when it comes to these things. They start out slow, asking general questions, trying to extract information, feelings; just screening for the areas of discomfort and signs of abnormal behavior. Typically, they will answer most questions with another question. They don't make proclamations or pass judgment on anything."

"Well, this guy did. Just how well do you know him?"

"Actually, I don't. He's from Central's facility. They sent him over because we were looking for someone specializing in torture victims. I was surprised they had one on staff. I thought they would have to canvass the universities and institutions to locate someone with that field of expertise."

"Alphonse told the officer watching over him exactly what happened during that session, right after it took place. That officer then relayed his story directly to me. I'm not mistaken."

"Remarkable. Well, issues with Dr. Wall's performance aside, that still leaves Edward with an unmet need for professional help. If not Dr. Wall, we should at least get him a competent therapist to monitor his progress. Alphonse, as well."

"The Colonel is his guardian. I can't make any of those decisions for him."

"This young man is not going anywhere any time soon. Let Colonel Mustang know that I will be taking this up with him. It's a shame that this didn't come to Fuhrer Bradley's attention before he left. We could have asked for some details on Dr. Wall's qualifications."

Hawkeye decided not to take up the subject of Fuhrer Bradley, since it didn't sound like Gansworth was planning to contact him now. "Edward will be out for a while?"

"He'll need to be out for a day at least. Two or three, most likely. This is going to be much more difficult to bring into control with antibiotics, as we did with Alphonse. That boy isn't in great shape, either, but he was far better off than this. In light of that, I'm going to need the Colonel's permission for a minor surgical procedure. I need to get that consent from him before the end of the day, so I can schedule for early tomorrow morning."

"I'll alert him. I'm sure he'll be quick to get back to you. And just to let you know, we're going to be posting someone here at all times as a security measure."

"As you wish, Lieutenant. The important thing is the approval for the procedure. The rest of the discussions can wait for now."

"I'll let him know."

When Hawkeye stepped out into the hallway to stand guard until relieved, Dr. Gansworth left soon after. He made his way down the empty halls to Alphonse's room. With a smile and a no-nonsense request for privacy, he settled next to the watchful boy and waited while the soldier in attendance left to stand watch in the hall.

"Hello, Al, how are you feeling today?"

"Better. When can I get out of here?"

"Soon. Very soon. That's not what I'm here for now, though. I need to ask you a few questions about your session with Dr. Wall."

"I can't stand that guy. He's a liar!"

"Wait now, wait." Gansworth held out an open hand, motioning for the boy to settle down.

"He lies!"

"About..?" the doctor ventured.

"About Ed! He will get better! He will. It's just going to take time."

Gansworth shook his head at his colleague's poor judgment. It just was not done, to discuss the likelihood of another patient's recovery; but apparently, that's just what Dr. Wall had decided to do. And he was making those statements about a patient he'd never even seen, to boot.

"You would prefer not to see Dr. Wall again?"

"For sure."

"All right. I'll see what I can do."

"He didn't see Ed, did he? Did he?"

"No." Gansworth pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses for a moment to clean them with a soft cloth from his pocket, frowning in thought. "He did not, I can assure you that much."

"I don't want him to."

"I can and will prevent it as long as Edward is here. After he's released it will be up to his guardian."

Al tried to conceal his shock. Ed was here. The doctor either hadn't realized or had forgotten that Ed's location was not something they wanted him to know. He restrained himself from asking too many questions, in case it served to call the doctor's attention to his error.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do with the information. Bradley had mentioned that Ed wasn't well, but they'd told him he was only tired. More lies. Whatever his illness was, it must be serious for them to have brought him here.

"That's good, then. My brother doesn't need to be talking to someone who thinks he's a lost cause. Because he's not. Is he? He's not a lost cause."

"Not in my opinion. Certainly not a complete loss," the doctor said encouragingly, re-seating his spectacles on his thin, serious face.

Al nodded. "Good. He doesn't have to be perfect. Just well enough to be happy."

If Alphonse had any clue just how far-fetched a 'happy' Ed sounded, it didn't show. Dr. Gansworth maintained his positive expression and nodded in agreement anyway.

"We will all be looking forward to that day. Let's have a look at those wounds. I think you're well past the chance of relapse, but we can't be too cautious."

After the doctor left and the soldier returned, Al's mind began churning overtime, wrestling with the news that Ed was here under the same roof, and trying to decide whether it was worth the potential consequences to try and sneak out to see him again. Not his own consequences; that wasn't even a factor.

But the toll his last visit took on Edward was not something he wanted to be responsible for causing again.

He wrestled with the possibilities, growing more and more restless and conflicted.

He had the feeling of foreboding in the mix as well. Too many worrisome things had been happening. First, their expert labeling Edward as beyond help. Then Bradley stepping in and offering to take them to the very place that so-called expert called home base. If they somehow talked the Colonel into releasing his guardianship and shipped them off to Central, anything could happen to Ed. Anything.

Al groaned and held his head, only remembering that the soldier was back in the room because he stood up and approached the bed.

"Alphonse."

Al jumped slightly.

"Sorry if I startled you. Is something wrong?"

That was one of the stupidest question Al had ever heard. He stared back in slight petulance.

"Look, uh…"

"Corporal Jacob Mauser reporting for duty. I relieved Corporal Enfield while he was out in the hallway; sorry I didn't introduce myself when I came in," the young soldier smiled. "Call me Jake?"

"Um, okay…Jake." Al didn't remember Corporal Enfield introducing himself. And he'd been relieved? They were on continuous assignment watching him now? Havoc had warned that he should expect increased security due to the Fuhrer's presence on the base. Were guards in his room something to do with Bradley's visit, or something else yet again?

Mauser gave him a casual handshake and stationed himself with a thump on the bedside chair after dragging it closer. He shifted to settle in and examine his new charge with friendly curiosity, effectively stalling Al's hope of slipping out to see Edward for the duration.

xxx

"I'll take over for now, Lieutenant," Armstrong said, striding up with an all-business air about him.

"Major. I thought the Colonel was going to post regulars at the door, one of them should be here any minute now. There's really no special need for one of us to stand guard outside while he's sleeping."

He nodded with a slight frown, caught in his attempt to take charge of the situation of his own accord. He let down his shoulders a bit and spoke to her sincerely. "I was concerned, that's all. I didn't see the guard on the way yet. I would prefer overseeing this in person if you're going to be leaving."

Hawkeye nodded with a sideways look at the lumbering officer. "You've been wonderful with him. You'll definitely be needed once he's awake. But for now, it would be better if we took this time to attend to our other duties. So that we'll have more time to spare for him once he really needs us."

The huge alchemist sighed in reluctant agreement. She was right, but it still felt wrong.

He started to speak when she did, and he stopped to let her finish. "Of course, we won't move on until the guard arrives."

"Of course. Or I can wait by myself if you have pressing matters to attend."

"Truthfully, Major, I'm glad to have few minutes away from those pressing matters."

He shifted again, seeming a little less tall and upright, getting a little closer to assure that he was not overheard.

"I wonder, Lieutenant, if you have a moment to indulge me in my nonsense. While we're waiting."

"Nonsense? I doubt that it's nonsense. What is it?"

"Do you think…is this what it's like caring for one's offspring?"

Hawkeye paused before replying hesitantly, blind-sided by his odd question. "I don't know first-hand, of course. But in a way, I guess it is, since we're taking care of him in lieu of his parents."

"Parents! I have no regard for his father whatsoever. How a man could leave these precious boys behind and never look back…it's a crime, that's what it is. I see what it's done to them, Edward in particular, and it's unbearable."

"Well, of course, their situation is very sad…" she said.

"Yes. Painfully sad. It's self-centered of me, I realize that, but it makes me angry as well. I'm not a young man, Lieutenant. And the life of a State Alchemist…we aren't meant to be wed and subject our loved ones to such danger and despair. Even ranking officers who aren't alchemists, like Brigadier General Hughes, fall to fates that illustrate the peril of having children; who wants to picture the despair of a Gracia Hughes on the face of someone who would risk caring for us? I long ago determined that I am betrothed only to my career. But when I work with young Edward and he relies upon me so completely…I can't seem to resist wanting that bond, however slight my excuse. I feel for him so strongly. And yet, for that so-called man to walk away from his very own small, helpless sons…just casting them aside with no regard for their fate…it's monstrous. When others who are childless would value them so highly. Am I making any sense?"

She nodded. He always spoke so elaborately; sometimes it was hard to tell just what he was driving at. But the simplistic message within was loud and clear this time. What the boys' father had discarded was something he wanted very much to have but could not. She had been surprised at the open-hearted way he had taken in Edward; this inner turmoil was clearly a side-effect of his kindness.

"Abandoning them was heartless, I agree, but he couldn't have known that they would end up alone; he left them in their mother's care. I think I do know what you mean, though. I'm not in any position to start a family, either. I may never be. But that's sort of feeling that keeps cropping up when I'm around Ed. Any parent would be proud to have him for a son; I catch myself sort of wishing he were mine, just like you. Then I think how it would be to witness my sons going through what Edward and Alphonse have. By my word, Alex, I don't honestly know if I could survive that. When I put it all together it doesn't make me want to be a parent. It just scares the hell out of me."

"It makes me wish I had been there when their mother passed on. If someone could have taken them in, given them proper guidance, they might never have gone to such extreme, desperate measures to begin with," the Major said with a clenched jaw.

"Maybe. Maybe. But we're here for them now, at least. And poor Ed…he needs as much or more help at this point as any toddler."

"All of his suffering is the result of his own Herculean efforts to right the wrongs that are the fault of his neglected upbringing, Lieutenant. The injustice of it all strikes like a viper into my sense of fair play."

"I get your point, I do, don't get me wrong. But it isn't helpful to dwell on it. If those boys are ever going to have any semblance of a normal life, they'll need to be able to move on. It seems impossible; but before Ed was captured, they were managing very well. They left their home behind, no turning back, and vowed to go forward to make things better. They wanted no part of wallowing in what happened in the past or what might have been. Against all odds, they were succeeding."

A young man in uniform approached, saluting them smartly. "Corporal Hobson reporting in for guard duty, per Colonel Mustang's orders."

"At ease, Corporal. Do you know your assignment?" Hawkeye asked.

"Ma'am, yes ma'am! Standing watch for the protection of, screening the visitors of, and monitoring the activity surrounding former Major Edward Elric. I am to do so until relieved by my scheduled replacement or by direct order."

"It think he's got it, First Lieutenant," the Major said, a trifle amused at the overzealous young Corporal, although disappointed that their private conversation had been cut short.

"Very well then. Take over. We should move along, Major, I'll need to report in to the Colonel right away. "

They trooped away, and the Corporal waited and watched until they were out of sight. Once they were gone, he entered the room to take in the layout, scoping for other entrance points to assure the area was secured, and to get a better look at his new responsibility. His curiosity had been killing him since he received his assignment. He'd only seen the Fullmetal Alchemist in his official portrait, the one that shared the wall with a long line of other State Alchemist's photographs in the main assembly hall.

It was an interior room, just as he had thought, with no window or alternate exit to have to be concerned about. That was a good thing from a security standpoint. When his eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting, Hobson was shocked. He had known this was going to be a kid, true…but this gaunt soul looked like he'd been a long-term prisoner of war. This was the famed youngest state alchemist, local legend and prodigy…and he'd been reduced to this before reaching adulthood?

He forgot himself for a moment and sat in the chair beside the bed to reflect. His own failed bid for state alchemist had led to his enlistment as regular military, and while the Corporal considered this duty just biding his time until he finally made it into the ranks of the alchemists, he had never considered whether there was some unknown risk factor to the job.

He was very anxious to learn about what had happened to this young man. His current medical condition was very serious; but it didn't hold a candle to what must have created the scars Hobson saw lacing his body, now exposed from the waist up.

He wondered just how many things went on in this man's military that he wasn't aware of. For the first time since enlisting, he felt a touch of uncertainty. He was witnessing something hidden from the rank and file. If he was supposed to be protecting Fullmetal from whatever was responsible for this, he sincerely hoped there were other layers of security in place to address it.

xxxx

"Please. I'm worried. Can't you just let me peek in while he's sleeping? I don't want to upset him. But I have to see him again! I need to know that he's all right." Alphonse was trying every way he knew how to get Corporal Mauser to give in and say something of use. "Jake, don't you have a brother you care about?"

Mauser frowned. He wasn't supposed to disclose anything to young Elric. Neither was he to allow any visiting or roaming.

"Alphonse, I'm not authorized to allow any of those requests. I'll forward your issues to the Colonel, how's that? I have my orders. It's not my call."

"But he's in his room, right? I already know it's in the main building where the Colonel's office is. It's not that far. He's been really tired, that's what the Fuhrer said. He probably won't even notice. He doesn't recognize me. What's the harm?" Al was careful not to tip his hand. He did not want them to know that he'd heard Ed was in the infirmary.

"I told you, Al, all I can do is elevate your concerns. I don't have the authority to let you leave this room."

"Are you saying I'm your prisoner?"

"No! Well, no. You're…in protective custody, though. I can't let you leave. You can take that for what it's worth."

"I'm a prisoner."

"Al."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"Al, calm…"

"I want to see Ed! Ask whoever it takes, then, but ask now!"

"When I come off watch I'll put in the request with my report. I can't leave my post until then."

Al grumbled. It had seemed like a pretty good plan, getting whipped up and then sending the guard off to ask for permission. Then, just those few minutes without being watched might be enough to slip out and find Ed's room. But this guy was either sharp enough to suspect something, or so thick he couldn't vary from his orders one iota. Either way, it was a no-go for Al's plan.

"How long before you go off watch?" he asked, a bit dejected.

"Two more hours. See, not so long, is it? Then I'm submit your request. Come on, Alphonse, I thought we were starting to get along pretty well. Don't be upset. It's my job, I have to follow orders. Want to play cards again?"

"No." Al shimmied back down under the covers and turned his back on the sighing Corporal.

"I am sorry, Al. It's for your own good."

"How so?" Al asked, suddenly realizing something. He still didn't know why they were watching him so closely. Just to make sure he didn't try to see Ed? Maybe; but why such an effort all of a sudden?

" 'How so', what?"

Al rolled back over. "How is it for my own good?"

"I…I don't know. It's protective custody, like I said…so that's a good thing. That means we're keeping you safe."

"Safe from what?"

"You mean, you don't know? I haven't had any background on your situation except generalities. I'm just doing a job here."

"Then how do you know I'm not a prisoner?"

"Because this isn't how a prisoner is watched. You'd be cuffed to the bedrail, because you're obviously capable of getting up. And the orders would say so. They'd describe your violence and risk factors. None of that applies here. So I'm sure that you're just in need of some kind of protective supervision."

"What if someone was…like, insane. Crazy. Would the orders be different?"

"Maybe. But I don't know. Haven't been tasked with that before. My guess is, yeah, there would be details, advisories of some sort. Most assignments to guard people for their protection aren't that complicated. It's just, guard this guy. No one in or out."

"But you can't tell me why you're guarding me."

"I only know it's a protect and prohibit order. The 'no one in or out' thing. Sorry."

"And was Lieutenant Havoc on the same orders?"

"The Second Lieutenant? I don't know. I doubt it, though. This kind of work would be quite a bit below his rank- this is usually non-com stuff. No offense."

Al tried to put it together, but too much was missing. Was it related to the Fuhrer's visit? And now, suddenly, he could no longer be trusted to stay away from Ed on his own, as they had trusted him before? Was it because Ed was worse? Or was Ed actively making attempts to see him, and they were keeping watch at his end to prevent it?

It reeked. Something wasn't right. Havoc was keeping something from him. Probably a lot of things, in light of this. Some 'friend' he had turned out to be.

Al rolled back over and left the Corporal to his own devices. He wracked his brain for some way to get out of the room alone without being noticed. So far, he was coming up empty.

xxxx

"Come in, both of you. I've been anxious for your report." Mustang turned the dented copper bowl in his restless hands, the ignored rosters half-completed underneath. With the day's unsettling events, it had been nearly impossible to concentrate while waiting to hear Edward's status. The long shots of bourbon had merely served up a side of mild headache and heartburn; the fifteen minute nap with his head on his desk had just made it harder to get back up to speed.

"He's in guarded condition, sir. Dr. Gansworth wants to see you; he needs your permission for treatment, and I'm sure he'll give you more details. But, basically, his prior condition has returned. The shoulder injury was deeply infected, with what the doctor believes is the same strain of bacteria that attacked him before. The same as Alphonse's."

Mustang stared as the implication sank in, confirming what he had sincerely hoped was not the case.

"I want you two to do something for me; Lieutenant, Major. Immediately. I want everyone in this building canvassed to find out if they saw Edward when he left the building for his little hike. I'm not looking to lay any blame. I just need to know exactly what they saw, and when they think it was."

"You're trying to establish what time he left?" Hawkeye asked.

"And if anyone else was around. How he was acting. If he took anything with him. Any details we may have missed. I want to know, no matter how insignificant it may seem."

"Certainly, Colonel." Armstrong tried to divine the nature of the Colonel's unspoken suspicion by watching him closely. Other than being quite serious, the commanding officer's expression gave nothing away. Their orders were probably vague on purpose, to eliminate the element of suggestibility.

"Any of the departments that have already left for the day need to be checked first thing tomorrow. In the meanwhile, I'd like to suggest that when you finish today's rounds, you both go to your own quarters to rest. Take a break from this while we can. The boys are going to have enlisted men guard them tonight, and I've just decided to ramp up hospital security to Code Kilo. I'll leave your names with all the shifts as allowed for in and out privileges. Critique the checkpoints every time, by the way. Make sure they're checking you AND requiring the passwords."

"Sir, it almost sounds like you're expecting trouble."

"Really, Lieutenant? Good. Because that's exactly what I'm preparing for. But with any luck, I'm wrong."

He let the bowl gong against the polished surface of his desk.

"Do you want me to complete the follow-up correspondence for the Fuhrer's visit?" Hawkeye asked, gaze attached to the warm sheen of the copper.

"No. The assignment takes priority; I'll take care of it with a form letter instead. If you discover something that seems unusual or important, let me know right away. Otherwise, I want the results of your investigation as soon as possible tomorrow morning. Dismissed." Mustang rose, slipping his jacket back on for the walk to the infirmary to meet with Ed's doctor.

"Stop by my desk, Major," Hawkeye said as Mustang brushed past them on the way out. "I'll copy the evacuation schematic for the building. It has everyone's assignment mapped by room, and most of the tour of duty times are correct. We can split it up and keep track of our progress in an organized manner. That should help us along."

"You are the picture of efficiency, as always," Armstrong stopped at the door and waited while she exited first. He secretly considered her face to be quite lovely as she looked up in acknowledgement. He didn't dare embarrass her by stating it aloud. She might think he expected something in return. It wouldn't be fair to strain her with any further details of the burden of his loneliness. A woman of her caliber might see him socially out of pity or guilt, but nothing else. She hadn't said anything in their little heart-to-heart that implied that she also felt loss at not having a family to shepherd in rebellion against this cold life. It would be a lovely thought, that he would find someone like her, in many ways his equal, to share all things with. Lovely, and astronomically unlikely.

He took his half of the floor plan with his usual grand smile, and set off in the opposite direction from the Lieutenant to start this new mission.

xxxxxxxxxx

There was a gradual lifting of the red-black weight. The fluffy white contentment had been crushed into oblivion in its wake, so when the darkness began to lift, there was nothing between Ed and the world except his eyelids. His eyelids that didn't quite close all the way across when he was at rest, thanks to his myriad scars. A tinge of light always invaded past them unless he squeezed them unnaturally tight. A sigh and a shuffle of movement caught his attention.

It eased him out of his all-enveloping waking dream about Alphonse. His brother's name had been mentioned by the rogue Colonel Mustang in a half-remembered conversation from the past, in frustratingly sketchy detail. It had been saturating his thoughts without forming any proper conclusions. He was supposed to be alive?

Another shuffle. Ed let an eye drift barely open. He saw sandy brown hair, a mop of it. His heart wedged into his throat. Alphonse _was_ here.

His eyes flew open, startling the occupant of the chair by his bed. He wanted to tell Al not to be afraid. He was afraid enough for the both of them.

The uniform gave him a moment's confusion. Al had joined as a regular? He'd beefed up, too, and looked very tall from this angle. Ed squirmed, trying to find muscle control to get up and tell Al he was here.

"Oh! You're…you're not supposed to wake up!" Hobson stared, unsure what to do. He hadn't been prepared to address the fallen alchemist yet. He wasn't even sure how to address him. 'Former-Major'?

"Al."

"Al? No, sir. My name in Corporal Hobson." He leaned closer, to better catch what Ed's faint, breathy words might be.

"You aren't…my brother?"

Hobson stopped. Specific in his orders, Edward was not to be told the whereabouts of his brother for any reason. He had thought it a strange warning at the time. _That's right - his brother's name was supposed to be Alphonse._

"Oh, gosh, no. I'm sorry. Hobson, sir. The name is Hobson."

Ed tried focusing again. This person had very dark brown eyes, narrow and set at slight angles, not light, round and straight as Al's should be. And…now that his vision had cleared a bit…olive skin and a heavy five o'clock shadow. He didn't look very Al-ish now. It had just been the hair. And the fact that he was sitting next to him companionably…in what appeared to be a hospital room. Where he would expect Al to be in a situation like this.

"Alphonse…"

"No, sir. There's no one here by that name."

Ed made out that reply and gradually took in the meaning of it. It took a couple of minutes. His urge to get away from the unfamiliar face was outstripped by his need to know.

"Where is Al?" he got the question out with great effort.

"Sorry, sir. There is no Al here…I mean, I'm sorry to say he 's not…he isn't…I can't really say."

"Is he…is he…"

"No, sir, I'm sorry." Hobson frowned. "I can't have this conversation with you right now. You should be resting. I need to stand watch at the door." He stood, vacillating over whether to salute, decided against it and went out to stand in the hall, safely outside the closed door. No salute, that was proper. He wasn't in the military anymore. And hell, he probably couldn't return it anyway.

The door whispered shut, taking the slice of harsh light from the hallway with it. Ed's lower lip trembled in reaction to the way his questions had sent the stranger scurrying away. Al must be dead, just as he thought all along. He was right. Mustang had been lying. Lying, and cruel, playing with him when he was helpless. Manipulating his efforts to reunite with Al for his own amusement. He would not have thought the Colonel capable of something like that…until he showed his true colors bullying and threatening him out at the preserve, away from everyone's sight.

It hurt again, it hurt still, more than his body, more that his fears and guilt. It was unbearably painful to think of Al as dead. It was worsened by his shadowy recollection of his role in that death. He had been gullible, had allowed Mustang and the others to fool him. He had wanted it so badly. He wanted Al to be alive. He wanted it far more than he wanted life for himself.

The medications they had given him to quiet his muscles and ease his pain were working well. They did not interfere with his thinking, an anomaly he had not had the advantage of under the type of sedation the Colonel's minions used on him. It allowed his mind to stretch and flex as it awoke, to feel fully the pain and loss, to run in a sick vortex of self-reproach until new innovation was born. His mind vibrated with the stroke of clarity.

He had figured it out, finally. Why the transmutation to revive their mother had failed. Where he had come up lacking in the equation.

He had been too stingy in his equivalent exchange. All of the chemical elements were offered up, in all the requisite measurements; certainly, they had provided it all correctly, with great attention to detail. But a few drops of blood in exchange for a soul? They were foolish children, giving only what they could comfortably spare. It was equivalent exchange, damn it, why had he been so blind? If he had offered his own soul, his own life, it could not have failed. His mother would have lived again, to take care of Al.

The diagrams that would focus the forbidden power to barter souls swam into his mind's eye and stayed there. Of course there was a way to atone for his failures, for the misery he'd spread with every foul breath he'd taken since his stupid attempt to cheat the laws of alchemy. He would place these powerful, forbidden diagrams on his own body. And when he activated them, the equivalent exchange would take place, and he would finally be right with the world. He would come as close as he ever would to making the world whole again.

The exchange of his body and soul for Al's. He would cease to be, and Al would be restored. There was no hope for the two of them to find restoration and reunite after his bungling. He had to let that go. Only one could survive.

At present, he was the one. Of all of them, between Mother, Alphonse, and himself, he was the guilty party, the least deserving one. Mother was gone far too long to try and retrieve. It left his way crystal clear. He had a new goal to affix where the broken one had been. His single-minded focus on unearthing Al from his place of burial had disappeared after it had been triggered, and had left behind a perfectly good empty nest, ready for his new obsession.

In his new obsession, he would make good on his wrongs in the world.

He would restore a part of what he had destroyed.

The most important part.

It would be Al.


	19. Chapter 19

_Ok, warning you up front - kind of a short one. _

**Chapter 19**

"We have some rather odd things to report, Colonel," Lieutenant Hawkeye began.

Just a bit bedraggled from substituting a two-hour nap for a night's sleep, Mustang shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes expectantly.

"Go on."

"We didn't find anyone yesterday who thought they had seen something. But this morning, as it turned out, we discovered that Corporal Wallace had been on duty when Edward went by."

"Wallace?"

"In Supply. Day shift. He's had some interaction with Ed before. He noticed Ed going past, in the hall. He said he wasn't alone."

"Really. Go on, Lieutenant."

"He saw Ed, and he was concerned that he might be coming in to the stockroom area again, since the last time he came in, he wouldn't really communicate and he wouldn't leave. But then he heard someone calling to him to follow. He said - Colonel I know how this is going to sound - he said he wasn't concerned after that, because Ed was with you. He said he heard you telling him to keep up, or something to that effect. He recognized your voice. He says he thought he saw someone in blues go by before Ed did, so it all meshed. He just really didn't question his assumptions. He believes Edward was heading in the direction of the rear service area, following you, shortly after lunch that day."

"So when we went forward with the other interviews, we asked about any and all observations of unknowns, or out-of-place known personnel. We only came across one. Apparently there was a woman, slight of build, shoulder-length blond hair - vaguely familiar-looking, according to the man on duty - he said that was the best way he could describe her - who came through security at the main gate that morning around eleven AM. She never checked back out. Said she had a delivery to make in the kitchen. But according to the mess officer, there was no such delivery. Standard rounds didn't turn her up anywhere. After she passed through the main gate, it's as if she disappeared."

"Damn it. So they are getting inside now." Mustang pawed the back of his head for a moment, in distressed thought. "We need to call a meeting, right away. I need all of my clearance-level men in the briefing room. Make sure they have coverage at their stations and make it happen now."

The clever bastards were so bold they were breathing down their necks. Their ability to take on any form was a dangerously effective offensive weapon. With all of the damage they'd done to Ed, they still weren't satisfied. They went to such lengths, dragging him out into the middle of nowhere to frighten him and destroy his small harbor of safety.

He might never have put it together if it hadn't been for that insidious infection eating away at Edward's shoulder.

Mustang picked up the bowl again, looking at it with new questions in mind. The 'Colonel' who had ordered Ed to produce this by alchemy - what was the purpose of it?

It was early in the day for the daily headache to begin, but there it was, in full swing. Despite the fact they never seemed to work at all, Mustang downed two headache pills without water, soldier-style.

This was the briefing he had hoped to avoid. It was time to share this dangerous knowledge with his trusted subordinates and pray that they would all survive the consequences.

xxx

Ed managed to steal a blue ink pen from the ever-present clipboard. They had unwittingly set it down for a moment near his hand on the edge of the bed. After snatching the prized object, he concealed it under his pillow quickly, playing dumb when the orderly went to write down his readings and searched the floor fruitlessly, finally producing a spare from his pocket to finish his notes.

Using his automail hand, he tucked it under the edge of mattress after they left, and it had been kind of tricky to do it right. He had to place it carefully so that it didn't show, but avoid pushing it in so far that he would have trouble reaching it. He'd need better muscle control of his flesh hand and a span of uninterrupted time to properly draw out, left-handed, all seven of the diagrams his humming mind told him would be necessary. The terrifying overload of information he had experienced at the Gate served him well now, regurgitating in perfect detail the powerful patterns of soul-exchanging symmetry.

Life had suddenly settled into a timeline. He wasn't sure the length of it, or from what point it all had started. He only knew where he was on it now: just past 'answer found, decision made, equipment available'. The next step was execution, an ironic term that made him giggle inwardly at his own clever thought. The execution of his plan would result in the rebirth of his brother, and he, himself, would be executed. Why that seemed so funny, he wasn't sure. They were rather fond of telling him he was crazy. Maybe, he thought, finding humor in such things was one of the symptoms.

All of this thinking worked wonders in pushing aside the lurking shadows of memory, further fogging up the still-vague recall of the abuse in the hands of the homunculi. It interrupted the growing threat of the clarification of those ghastly details, as they poised at the edges of his thoughts, provoking him, straining against the defense mechanisms frustrating their return. Set free, they would have had the impact of a wrecking ball in his delicate mindscape.

The painful pressure of that constant, underlying fear became fully repressed and just seemed to disappear. He had a goal again, a fixed purpose, and no real reason to be afraid anymore. His decision to expend his life settled all the turmoil. The lost memories weren't something he needed to address in the little time he had left.

A sort of existential stubbornness locked in, and he found peace with his logical concession to mortality. His sins would be atoned to his fullest ability, since he was sacrificing everything. So for once, his gargantuan guilt monster was content, waiting expectantly instead of gnawing his heart and soul in two. It felt as if nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. He felt kind of good, for the first time in so long, and the state was so unfamiliar it was almost dizzying. It was by far the strangest aspect of this new mindset.

He was still not good enough with his hands, though. He shakily traced circles on the sheet near his head with the tip of his finger, resting on his right side. The illness from the infection made him unsteady, and the tubes interfered with his arm movement. He would be far too slow and inaccurate like this. He needed to do this soon. But not yet. He had to be sure of his ability first.

"Edward?" Mustang stepped in tentatively, accompanied by the Major. Ed rolled his eyes to look at them blandly, his head never leaving the pillow.

"The Colonel just wanted to speak with you, Edward. He has no interest in upsetting you," Armstrong said, trying to position himself as mediator. They had discussed their approach prior to entering, certain that seeing the Colonel would be alarming to the young man, particularly since he was confined in an uncomfortable environment.

"I'm not upset," Ed mumbled, looking back to his hand again, resuming practice of his fine motor control. Unless they came to break his fingers, they were kind of irrelevant in his world now. They were just a part of what he was leaving behind, the good things as well as the bad. Had already left behind, in effect. There was no going back and he intended to shut out anything that presented a temptation to delay or change his mind.

They picked up on the strange tone of apathy, both moving in closer to see his expression. He wasn't in standby, nor did he appear to be heavily drugged.

"Well, that's good to hear. Look, I've heard what you think happened when you were lost, and that's something we need to straighten out right away. I want to reassure you that I did not take you out and threaten to leave you on your own. I am convinced that something did happen that caused you to believe that. But I want you to understand that I wouldn't do such a cruel thing to you, Ed. I really do care about your safety." He pushed the main issue right away, without preamble, because Ed was so distant. It wasn't planned to barge in and do this so abruptly. They had figured on a having to work through a more emotional reaction, and had been ready to spend some time just trying to get Ed to open up to the idea that he was mistaken about the identity of his abductor. Discussing the subject of the phony 'Colonel', and the likelihood that it had been a homunculus was still iffy; they had decided to play that by ear. It seemed too risky to come out and say it; it would be a huge blow to Ed's threadbare sense of security, not an equitable trade for his ability to trust in Mustang again.

Those words had no visible impact except for a slight nod, with no real attention being paid. The Colonel tried again.

"We can discuss this. We can talk about it, or about anything you like. I'll answer any question you have."

On impulse he reached out and placed his hand gently on Ed's cheek. He would have to react one way or the other. He either still held some trust in his Colonel, or he didn't.

Armstrong tensed, ready to intercept Ed if he panicked.

Nothing happened.

Ed didn't look up from his slow tracing. His dexterity was getting better already. He barely noticed the touch. It didn't interfere with his circles.

"Ed." Mustang let his hand slide down and around to rest between the bony shoulder blades, carefully avoiding the healing surgery site. He began a slow massaging motion, checking for clenched muscles, some sign of anxiety. Ed's normally tense and rigid back was doughy and motionless under his hand but for the subtle muscle retractions necessary to keep his hand moving.

"Edward," Armstrong chimed in, with a glance at the Colonel to make sure he was not interfering. Mustang nodded for him to continue. "I've been in touch with the doctor. Your surgery went well, in fact, it went better than they expected. We're staying well-informed so that we can bring you back to your quarters as soon as possible. I know it's stressful for you to be here."

"Mmm-hmm," Ed said absently, no stress apparent at all.

The Colonel motioned with is chin, and the perceptive larger man followed through and checked the labels on the I.V. bags.

"Write those down. I want to know if they're using something new," Mustang said softly. Something was so very wrong here. Ed was different again, quiet in such a way that, for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, it felt frightening. By acting like everything was all right, it was glaringly obvious that something was very wrong.

Ed's mind was busy elsewhere; he was thinking about his next step again, daydreaming about the possibility of passing through his brother's soul during the exchange. It seemed that it must be a magical thing, Alphonse's soul. He was a beautiful, compassionate person, wise beyond his years. He had known they shouldn't try the transmutation and had said so plainly right up to the last minute without anger or belligerence, even though Ed had failed to honor his opinion. He had been too sympathetic with Ed's out-of-control obsession to stop him from making the mistake that cost them both so much. So kindly. So honest. He loved his little brother so dearly, it would be a perfect moment in time when they passed through one another. They would be together at last, if only for a heartbeat of reunion and goodbye. It tickled his stomach to imagine that moment. His eyes glittered blindly as his face broke out in a smile, and a quiet huff of a laugh was the only sound.

To his visitors, there seemed to be a great deal of pressure underlying those small signs of emotion as they managed to escape. His hand stopped moving, and his head rolled forward until his eyes were directed at the floor.

It chilled Mustang to the bone. He hoped it was the side effect of some medication they were giving him. In all of the time he had seen Ed since the torture - hell, even before then - he had never felt that he was changing into someone else. But this was not Ed minus something, Ed broken, Ed deranged…this was just not Ed. For a second, Mustang wondered if some kind of exchange had been made, if this might not be the same person at all.

"Lad," Armstrong said, voice low with concern. "You seem off today. Was something funny, just then? Can you share it with us?"

Ed made one more amused sound, and then his smile faded quickly. He shook his head and kept his eyes turned away, regaining the sense of the gravity of his situation. It was not for sharing; it was not for anyone else to know.

"Well, then, how about…"

"Go away," he breathed. They were interfering with his daydream. And his circle practice. He gathered his resolve and dismissed them mentally again, to be certain that they did not weaken the wall sealing off his sense of self-preservation. It worked; for his intents and purposes, they were gone.

Further attempts to communicate met with no reaction. Mustang touched him again, and still got nothing. They gave up and left, taking the list of medications with them and hailing a nurse. They got the list of pills that he had taken as well. Nothing was new or at some increased dosage since the day before; nothing seemed to account for his behavior.

Mustang knew what the assumption was: that this was just one of his odd phases. But deep in his gut, alarms were going off that refused to be silenced.

It was because Edward knew who they were - but he didn't care at all. It was so out of character, even in his illness, that it seemed to indicate they were losing him somehow. Mustang struggled to put even that much together from his gut feelings. He hoped he was wrong; that this was just Ed's usual distressed reaction to being in the infirmary, expressed in a different way.

The sentries watching over him hadn't mentioned any problems. Of course, not knowing Ed, this behavior wouldn't seem problematic. The Colonel beckoned to Hawkeye and made his request. He wanted to speak with the men who had been stationed to guard Edward. Perhaps something had happened that hadn't been reported.

Mustang sat stiffly and downed the half-cup of cold coffee stagnating on his desk. The mysteries here were getting to him. At every turn, another question, another variable gone haywire. It was causing him to lose sleep, and tangled up his thinking.

Answers. For once, he'd like some answers that didn't consist of more questions.

xxxxxx

They were always so careful, the shifts always overlapping…and Al's release date was a day overdue, and still, still there had been no break to sneak out and look for Edward. By now, and he did sincerely hope that this was true, Ed could be fine and back at the main building already. But he doubted it. The only reason he'd been able to think of for keeping him under constant watch was to keep him away from Ed; so Ed must still be here.

Havoc had made up the lamest explanation, that the security was standard because the whole base was on alert, due to some civil unrest in the area. That didn't make sense to Al; did they keep him confined for fear that if he slipped out he might defect and join the underground?

Al gave up on subtlety, on sneaking. Those were dead possibilities with his release so near. Instead, he waited until Havoc went in to the restroom. He threw back the covers and hopped to the floor on bare feet, and made his way out the door as quickly as his rubbery legs would carry him, pulling on the thin robe as he hit the hallway.

He flashed by three open doors , scanning the rooms doubtfully. If Ed were in a room the door would be closed, perhaps even guarded, he was sure of it. He peered in the small window of the closed doors on the next row. Most of the rooms were empty. The others held people who were clearly not Edward.

He turned the corner and stopped, swallowing hard as two of the housekeeping staffers rolled toward him with the linen cart. He stood aside and let out the breath he'd been holding, when a voice from the direction he'd come from set him forward in a jump.

"Alphonse!"

A loud voice like that, ringing out in the muted halls of the hospital, was as effective as any escape siren and searchlight. It alerted everyone in the vicinity that he had taken off without permission.

Al started to hustle but he heard the housekeeping staffers ratting him out, and Havoc's boots coming at a dead run. He started darting from door to door as best he could, hoping against hope to at least get a glimpse, but reluctantly aware that they wouldn't have placed Ed so close to him if they were trying to keep them apart.

"Hey! Damn it, Al. Stop that! Get back here!" Havoc was on him, hands on his upper arms, breath hot on his neck.

Al started to pull away, but Havoc was seriously applying pressure, controlling him with the precision born of his experience with taking prisoners of war. Al knew immediately that it was fruitless to fight back; but he couldn't make himself stop. He desperately wanted to avoid losing control, but the situation was shoving him forward with a dynamic all its own. The need to see Ed was just too great.

"Ed's here, I know it," Al huffed, squirming. "You lied to me, all of you. He is too sick. What's wrong with him? Tell me! I want to see that he's all right!"

"You're not in any position to be making demands, Al," Havoc said tersely, even as he hauled Al sideways down the corridor and drug him through the door back into his room.

"Demands? Okay, yeah, but I do demand! I want to know what you've done with him!"

"Orders are orders. That information is classified right now. For your safety, as well as Ed's."

"That's bullshit. Bullshit! Tell me what's wrong with him! At least tell me if he's going to be all right!"

"We've been telling you all along he's fine. So I'll say it again. He's fine. You're getting yourself all upset for nothing."

"But…but…he's here. He's here! You're lying! Lying again!" Al's voice lofted higher with the intensity of his emotion and the effort he was beginning to put into breaking free.

"Stop, Al, stop, hey…" Havoc's hold was suddenly being testing by some pretty serious struggling. Al was coming unglued, voice rising unsteadily. "Settle down. Al, come on."

"Liars! Liars! Let me see him! Let go, let go of me!" In the blinding heat of near-hysterical rage, he managed to jerk a hand free, delivering a hard shot to Havoc's cheekbone.

Havoc was cursing to himself under his breath, forced to wrestle Al to the bed and pin him face down. With his applied upper body weight more than sufficient to prevent any escape or attack, he was able to position himself to press his hand across Al's mouth to muffle the noise.

Al resisted until he wore himself out. Havoc was more than a little annoyed that no one on duty had paid enough attention to come to his aid. It wasn't like it was all that hard on him, but Al was drenched in sweat and had managed to bloody his own nose before he finally quieted enough to have his mouth uncovered.

"Al, I'm going to let you go. If you start up again, you're going right back down."

Al didn't answer, silent but for his ragged breathing. Havoc pushed up off of him, poised to re-engage if necessary. The boy didn't get up, but shifted onto his side awkwardly. He looked odd, not calming as Havoc had thought when he stopped moving so much. Instead, he seemed so far past upset, he was seized up tight.

Al started whispering, a stream of words run one onto the other, talking only to himself. He was gripping his own elbows so hard his arms vibrated with the strain.

"Al," Havoc said cautiously. "What the hell are you saying?"

Al hunched his shoulders up hard. Havoc managed to lean far enough across him to get a good look at his face anyway.

"Shit. Come on Al, snap out of it." The light brown eyes were jiggling side to side so rapidly he couldn't possibly be focusing on anything. The eye movement was far too fast to produce at will. "Al. Look at me. Do you know where you are right now?"

Havoc took his arms and shook him carefully. His body was rigid, board-like.

"Come on Al. Come on!"

Havoc released him again and went for the call button.

That dark, deep anger was a leech that had attached itself sometime since Al was trapped beneath the earth. It wasn't a rabbit hole, it was a grave he'd been stuffed down into, but the peace and rest so widely touted were the biggest lies of all.

Locked motionless in the crushing grip of earth and devoid of all light, the long stretches of nothingness were punctuated with visits by unwelcome subterranean dwellers.

The worms were by far the most annoying. They ate, non-stop, and the rude, sloppy smacking and sucking when they moved nearby was maddening and gross. They swam through the soil with slow, steady ease, as if flaunting their relative freedom, mocking the trapped giant. They could venture up to the light and the air as they pleased; yet they chose to remain in the dark, damp ground.

Al had taken to talking to them, mostly begging for help at first, pleading for one of them to find his brother. Ed might be hurt, lost, in need of help, and Al could do nothing. Ed might be roaming carefree, forgetting the small detail that he'd left his brother to rot underground.

No matter what he said they ignored him. In the next stage he roared in inconsequential fury and madness until the earth around him seemed to shake, but they went about their business, unimpressed. When the rare gopher or mole would happen by he became particularly excited, the presence of warm-blooded creatures amplifying both his awareness of being entombed, and of his utter lack of the basics that living beings were supposed to have. His own unbearable silence allowed him to detect the rapid beat of the tiny hearts as the gophers dug and breathed and defecated, doing all manner of things he could not, not even if he made it out of this premature burial alive.

The mind-crushing sensory deprivation and solitude antithetically set his thoughts to whirling endlessly like a dervish in the next stage. He repeated words until he couldn't decide what speech was, if he was actually capable of it or just imagining it. There was nothing at all to see, so hallucinations took over, providing endless images that bombarded his senses and tore at the fabric of his innermost beliefs. It seemed as if he had been imagining his life since birth. His very basis of reality crumbled with doubt. And from within an anger grew unchecked, an aspect of his emotional makeup he had always been adept at controlling no matter what the situation.

From there he began to believe that he was endlessly suffocating, teetering on the brink of relief in the form of losing consciousness, relief that would never come to a boy who was not even able to sleep. He imagined horrible pains, crushing pressure from the earth piled upon him, and dirt filling his lungs. It became impossible to distinguish imagination from fact. In the final loop of mental activity his sense of self twisted and shattered, flying apart into a million pieces that quivered and crawled back desperately to reassemble, only to shatter and fly apart again and again.

When the crunch of shovel and the loosening of the saturated soil penetrated his altered state, he reacted with the survival instinct of a caged beast, his civilized self no longer intact. With his humanity and reason in tatters, the only strength left was the force of his outrage. So it was the anger and aggression that took the upper hand, moved him to act, kept him from dissolving into blubbering senselessness. And when Edward dove down into the earth to dig him out, his wrath had locked on the first thing he saw, as its focal point.

It persisted through the trip to the Gate until the shock of returning to his body threw the brakes on it. The soul-shaking realization that his body's first act was to strike down Edward was the slap that brought him back out of it completely. Brought him out of it, but in no way worked through the festering psychological damage that had created it.

Being trapped and pressed down against the bed was too reminiscent of his buried state to deal with, and his aggravated emotional state snapped him into a mental lockdown. Even after he was released, it took time for his defenses to allow the message through that he had been freed; but once the message got through, the pressure slowly released, and his paralytic contractions lessened.

The anger returned immediately but with less force. Al had the advantage of experience this time, knowing as he came out of the disorienting fit of rage that it would continue to fade. The things he did in anger were not the things he really wanted to do, no matter how right or irresistible the urges were at the time. He didn't have any way to deal with the lingering strangeness and the fear that the feeling of being trapped again had stirred up. His only coping mechanism was to try and push it all back out of his mind and forget it, to get a grip on his emotions again and try to appear as normal as he could manage to.

When Havoc came into focus, the door was opening behind him. It was still hard to breathe, his body was beginning to shake beyond his control as the fierce tension retreated and left him weakened and mortified.

Al gasped at the red mark on Havoc's very serious face. He was responsible for it, and he had meant to do it, too. In the state he had been in, if he could have torn that face off completely, he would have. And this was one of the few people who could still stand to be near him for any length of time.

Bile rose in his throat. He had changed, whether it was from the cold earth or the opposite, unearthly influence of the Gate. He had never been so hateful and violent. Somehow, part of his soul had turned foul and evil.

It dawned on him then - the reason he was under guard. His face was so strange in the mirror, and now when he looked hard, deep inside, he knew that he had become strange through and through. They didn't trust him, and their instincts were excellent, because he himself worried that he had returned as something else again. Not just Al, restored human boy. This body was his…but whatever had kept it alive while he was in the armor might still be lurking within, poisoning his heart and mind.

"Hey now, the nurse is going to have a look at you." Havoc turned his attention to the nurse.

"His eyes were going back and forth, like this, a mile a minute. Seemed almost like a seizure. He's much better now, but he's still really stressed out."

Al reached out and then stopped short of touching the darkening abrasion, ignoring the nurse.

Havoc held still, watching Al's expression and trying to puzzle out his behavior.

"It's all right, Al, I'm sure you didn't mean to hurt me. You just got overwrought."

Al turned away, clawing the hair away from his forehead. concealing his face for the moment.

His self-image had always been the picture of the good son, the solid citizen, the wind beneath his brother's wings. While he might not succeed, the aim was always clear. He meant to be good, to help, at minimum to do no harm. In general, he felt he was a pretty good person.

It shouldn't have come as such a shock that it was no longer true. Not after what he'd done to Ed at the Gate. He knew that he'd done wrong, and he'd chalked it up to post-burial stress - a one-time thing. But it was really sinking in now. When this evil took over he was capable of anything, and it was still there, deep within. If it got stronger, it might possess him completely. Maybe this was how a Barry or a Slicer was created.

They'd taken his brother out of his destructive reach, and wisely at that. He wouldn't have admitted it ten minutes ago, but his attempt to see Ed was solely to soothe his own pain. He had been risking his brother's well-being again for his selfish needs.

Al couldn't be blamed for attributing his strange behavior to such unlikely causes. He'd never heard of sensory deprivation torture or the deep psychosis that typically developed from it.

Regardless, the question of his body's possession was still a legitimate one.

xxxxxx

"I assure you, Corporal, this is important. Think. Did you see anything, hear anything? Anything unusual?"

"Sir, no sir. Nothing. I spoke with him for just a minute. I didn't tell him anything. Other than that, he never talked to me again. The rest of my shift, just doctors and nursing staff, and the Lieutenant came in once but he was asleep and she just looked in and left. I I.D.'d and pass-phrased them all, and they checked out. The nutrition aide didn't even go in with a meal, they said he wasn't on solid food today. I asked when they went by in case they'd overlooked him. I put all the in-and-out activity in my report."

"Stop right there. You say that you didn't tell him anything. He spoke to you? What did he say?"

"Uh…I don't recall verbatim, sir, but it wasn't much. He asked for his brother. Al, he said. I think he mistook me for his brother."

Mustang's eyebrows dropped in a doubtful look. Hobson's complexion was rather on the swarthy side, not someone he would easily mistake for Alphonse. Although, he did have light brown hair. "Try harder, Corporal. How many times did he speak? And each time, what did he say?"

"He…I know he said 'brother', and I know he said 'Al' . No, wait, he said 'Alphonse', that was it. It sounded for the life of me like he thought I was Al, the way he first said it. I told him my name. Then he wanted to know where his brother was, if he was okay. Not in that many words. But that was the gist."

"And you told him…"

"Nothing! Per my orders! I just told him who I was."

"So you didn't tell him if Al was okay or not."

"No, sir. I didn't tell him anything."

"So, how did your conversation end?"

"He…stopped asking questions and I went back out to stand at the door."

"He stopped, or you left and presume that he stopped?"

Hobson looked down. "A little of both. I wasn't supposed to tell him about his brother. But he really, really wanted to know. I thought it would be best if I stepped out so he'd stop asking."

"Did he seem distant to you?"

"Distant? No, I wouldn't say that. He seemed…he just seemed to really need to find out about his brother. He was pretty weak and he looked real sick. But his attention was right there."

"Nothing else to report? You're certain."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed, Corporal. And next time, when your orders are to log in any and all activity regarding a watch like that - you for damned sure better include any verbal exchanges that you were a party to, just like you'd record anyone else's. Am I clear?"

"Crystal. Sir."

"Your Sergeant will be hearing from me. Expect it."

"Aye, sir." Hobson walked out with a glum expression. His next shift was going to be with Edward again. That settled it. He was going to stand his watches in the hallway; his curiosity had gotten him in enough hot water on this detail.

He wasn't going back in that room unless the kid was on fire.

_tbc_


	20. Chapter 20

_This is a little longer - does that make up for the lateness? _

**Chapter 20**

A pattern. Ed had finally discerned a pattern in the daily routine, the last piece of the puzzle he needed in order to launch his plan. He knew exactly when he should begin.

It was actually pretty easy to see the pattern, now that things weren't so confusing. His world was new glass, clear and bright and unobstructed with those meaningless worries and sorrows. This was his day, his time and place to fly away free. The signs were all favorable, and the air had a special softness to it that just felt right. A confident calm settled over his thin, wiry frame. It contrasted sharply with atmosphere of the dingy white sickroom, the metal tree of drooping bags and tubes oozing slow fluids into him still.

The man named Hobson would push the door open soon to announce his arrival on duty, but he would not care to enter or talk. During his shift he always stayed in the corridor just outside the closed door; he barked his requests loudly when he made visitors and medical staff identify themselves. He doggedly held them up, asking them all the required questions before allowing the door to open. These behaviors would inadvertently serve to assure Ed of some privacy, and plenty of notice when it was about to be interrupted.

Things went like clockwork. The wait was entirely reasonable. The orderly came, as expected, to check and adjust the flow of his medication and change the bandage just a short time after Hobson took up his station in the hall. Ed found that it was quite easy to detect the advance warning of intrusion.

The treatment was brief, and when the door closed again he found himself at the starting blocks. No routine visits should follow until just before the next change in guard shift. He silently gave himself the order to commence.

The automail hand wiggled down under the mattress and fished out the pen, handing it off to his flesh hand for use. It was impossible not to be a little nervous at first; he rushed to push down the cover as he shifted higher on the bed. He lifted his gown and started on his belly straight away, the least likely place anyone would be examining, and the easiest to cover if he were interrupted. He had to take in a deep breath and arch back a bit to push the skin out smoothly enough to write on properly; his poor eating habits had made a slack valley of that pale expanse of scarred skin otherwise.

Time ticked by, and after a while the central diagram on his tummy took shape, laced with important detail. Careful strokes embellished and darkened it until it was just right. He had been unsure for a moment whether he should draw it toward his face, or work it upside down…until he laughed at himself for his silliness. The patterned circles he needed to draw had no true top or bottom, only a fixed interval of repeated symbols that had to be identical and evenly distributed in order for the transmutation to occur.

He sighed, no longer needing to hold his breath, and started on a circle on the left side of his chest. It was a simpler one, more quickly finished. On to the right to make the same circle in a mirror image. He went to the left bicep and them the right, really having a tough time; the automail hand was no great shakes at creating the artwork on his organic arm, and while the flesh hand skillfully moved the pen when he reversed the procedure, the ink refused to apply properly to the metal arm. He was going to have to rethink where the fifth circle would go, or risk transmuting the automail into something that the ink would agree with.

Voices outside the room finally penetrated his consciousness, interrupting his deep concentration and then panicking him when the situation sank in. He thrust the pen down under his leg, pawing his gown back down quickly, and hastily yanking the covers clear up to his head as he flipped on his side facing away from the doorway and froze to try and hide himself.

The bed was still rocking slightly from his sudden movement as the door opened.

"Hi, Ed. Hey. I just wanted to see how you were doing." Mustang came about halfway across the room and paused. "Having a hard day?"

It wasn't clear if Ed hid because he knew who was coming in, but now that he knew who was here, he wasn't making any move towards coming out.

"I'd sure appreciate it if you'd say hi, or maybe look at me for a moment. It's a little lonely, just looking at the covers like this."

Ed's breathing sounded light and slightly fast, not sleepy or pained.

As he made several gentle attempts to lure Ed into communicating, the Colonel had no idea that Ed was splitting his attention between this wary, defensive possum act and deciding on an alternative spot for the fifth circle.

He didn't stay long once it became apparent that things weren't progressing, not wanting to push too hard for interaction while he was not fully trusted.

After waiting out the Colonel's low-key attempt at a visit, the door shut again, and Ed re-emerged to blithely resume his handiwork. He began to hum, just a little bit pleased, verging on a smile. The ribcage was a nice spot, he decided, a little off-balance but he could just adjust by making the pattern circle a bit smaller than the one on his arm.

It was getting closer. Al's revival was so close he could almost hear his voice already.

xxxx

The Colonel was back at his desk after making a spot check on the security measures at the hospital. That had been the excuse, anyway. The front desk and the door guard had been there, they had checked him in per instructions. He had used the inspection as an opportunity to have another meeting, albeit fruitless, with Ed.

The young man had already retreated under the covers by the time he knocked and entered the room; all he could see was the disarrayed crown of blonde hair and the hand that held the covers up to it in defense. He was definitely awake but never made any other move or reaction, even though Mustang had taken advantage of their moments alone. He had even resorted to coaxing him sweetly, as one would a small child or frightened kitten. If anything, he was quieter and colder than before. Mustang hadn't thought that was even possible.

Determined that his visit would not be a total loss, he had dropped in on Alphonse afterward. The younger Elric had been held over in the hospital yet another day due to some strange neurological event he'd exhibited while under stress.

It was then that he learned that this stress had occurred because Alphonse had somehow gotten wind of Ed's hospitalization; the news of that slip-up further annoyed Mustang with the performance level of the enlisted men he'd entrusted with this important task . He was starting to regret the decision to assign them to stand guard to free up his officers for other duties. To placate Alphonse, he had ended up sharing an edited version of Ed's injury, downplaying the adventure into an outing in the courtyard and explaining the wound away as the result of a fall.

Al didn't accept it one hundred percent, that was obvious, but he took it without a fuss. When reassured that he would be able to see Ed in person eventually, the reaction was baffling. It seemed to worry Al, but the boy would not share his thoughts about it. He merely expressed his thanks with what was clearly a note of dread. Mustang wondered if he was so distrusting that he now despaired of ever seeing Ed again. He seemed more down and nervous that before. Yet, he did still seemed to be fairly comfortable with Corporal Mauser; Mustang had taken a moment to make sure of that before he left. The Corporal was a natural at sensing Al's mood and engaging him in conversation or games to try and keep him from getting too despondent. He seemed to genuinely like the boy and want to help him. Somehow, Mustang sincerely doubted that Mauser had been the one to let that upsetting information slip.

He nearly went back to take one more shot at talking to Ed before leaving to sign the damnable requisitions but decided better of it.

The frazzled officer returned to his desk on that very low note, still trying to mull over a way to address the boys' situation while mentally reviewing all of the current security procedures for sufficiency against a shape-shifting enemy.

Whatever had happened to change Ed's attitude had definitely happened sometime right after Hobson first came on watch a few days ago - because the inquiry about Al sounded fairly normal the way the Corporal had described it, and at least somewhat lively. The next person to see him was Armstrong, who alerted the doctors to his sudden, extreme melancholy. Since Ed wasn't talking, it seemed like they might never know the cause of his mood shift for certain.

As illogical as it was, Mustang still felt guilt at being the image used by the homunculus to perpetuate more cruelty against Ed. He couldn't help wondering whether the break in their relationship had contributed to this. Ed might regard him, and by association, his men, as a threat, a group he now placed in the same category as his torturers. That would be deeply disturbing for the young man. It would effectively rip away the vast majority of the security and support he so desperately needed. The potential to send him into this sort of regression seemed high.

Mustang tapped his pen on the desk and something occurred to him. The bit of blue on the inside of Ed's middle finger. He'd seen it without really digesting the significance as he spoke, only able to see the flesh hand and the top of the head not covered by the sheet. His concentration has been on talking Ed into coming out of hiding. It looked like ink, he realized now, looking at the oddly similar stain he'd gotten on his own hand at some point while signing so many papers. But why…why would Ed have that on his hand? How would it get there? The medical staff used marker to make little black marks on his skin at times, to help them locate anemic veins - but not blue, and certainly not right there where one's writing callous was located.

Ed was classified as insufficient to sign any sort of document, consent or release. The staff - the real staff - was well aware of it.

Something about it, as innocuous as a little ink seemed, was alarming. It meant something was happening with Ed that they were missing. Something they didn't know about.

Even though he had just been there, Mustang bolted up from his desk and headed straight back to the infirmary. He impatiently gave the passwords and submitted his I.D. to the guard at the front entry.

When they let him through, he started walking quickly. By the time he turned down the hallway, he'd broken into a trot.

He didn't let the guard give him away; instead, he held a finger to his lips as he approached and motioned Hobson to come aside, so that he could identify himself quietly. He didn't knock this time. With one quick motion he threw open the door and barged in.

His heart all but stopped.

Ed was sitting with his back against the headrail, propped upright on the bed, fully uncovered and undressed. Mustang's eyes immediately locked on the thing Ed was bending his neck awkwardly to see: the markings he had made at the base of his own throat.

A pen dropped from his hand and fell silently, landing on the bunched linens. The worn cotton had been pushed aside to bare his body. The ink-embellished living flesh was the only visual warmth in the stark surroundings. His hospital gown was in a wad on the floor by the bed.

Mustang momentarily presumed he had dropped the pen because he had been startled. But when he saw the other carefully crafted circular diagrams, he realized that wasn't true. They were complete, and there were seven of them; drawn on his bare body, marking his arm and his torso from chest to lower abdomen.

Ed lifted his chin and gazed up at him levelly, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. He raised his open palms and slapped them together, proceeding without hesitation to make his connections. His flesh hand touched a circle on his ribcage, and the automail hand came to rest on the circle on his shoulder.

When Mustang dove forward and knocked him clear off the bed a second later, the blue glow had illuminated the diagrams under his fingertips and was beginning to spread across the next circles in proximity.

xx

As the door opened, Ed saw the Colonel, but he was already in an alpha state, generating the inner concentration for the procedure. Outwardly, he was awkwardly posed, bent and cramped, thin and frail. The I.V. tubing seemed to point to him in a regretful accusation of just how ill and abnormal he had become. But inside? Inside, he stood straight, drawn up to full height, powerfully balanced on the tip of his toes with arms outstretched and hands curved up in graceful symmetry. He was poised for launch, on the very edge of the abyss; intent on making this dive with the beauty and style that would illustrate his whole-hearted belief in his sacrifice. This was an experience to embrace, not to wince and bear stoically like some bitter pill.

The interruption of his privacy was just a distant visual cue; he let go of the pen, and began his silent spell.

Time stood still. He let his balance shift, springing forward with the controlled grace of a jungle cat. An amazing torrent of energy began to fire in his being as the descent truly began. It elevated his already idyllic mood into a powerful, dizzying euphoria. It seemed like heaven, or nirvana, or the cosmic waters - whatever perfect afterlife awaited beings in the religions of the day - and the pure blue glow of it was lifting him up and taking him in. It was a shocking turn of good fortune. He had fully expected his destination to be the dark and somehow devious Gate; that he would be sucked in and torn to bits in exchange for Alphonse's return. But he didn't sense any such presence, and that squalid darkness was nowhere in sight.

It defied description - the closest thing he could think of was the word 'home'. The feeling of coming home to a familiar, warm, and accepting embrace. The featureless world welcomed him in, saturating his traumatized spirit with comfort and healing support. Slowly, the vague surroundings equalized, and he gradually lost momentum. Instead of falling, there was no direction of travel, and he was upright, sort of - there was no true up or down, no ground to touch down on, no sky above to relate to. It was all right, though. It was as if he had found his way into the essence of the beautiful blue light.

His awareness picked up a presence drawing near, adrift in the same surreal plane. Another spirit, loose and lost like himself, also being drawn into the azure light of his magical transmutation. The were going to pass through each other, just as he'd dreamed. He could scarcely wait, impatient for the spirit to come to him, shaking with anticipation. They were growing closer, but too slowly. The suspense was so cruel. He focused, staving off the euphoria a bit to concentrate on his true goal. He needed to pay attention and he had to know now, to be sure. In moments it would be too late to terminate this. He needed to be sure that this was Alphonse.

The figure began to darken and firm up into a definite human shape, the blue light tracing it with an outline and shining in a growing aura. It wasn't so much floating now, but beginning to approach by using its legs, as if it had found the ground. Al was thinner than he would have thought, much thinner. He struggled to confirm the identity, longing to make this parting look last as long as possible; but he still fell short of bringing his brother's image into focus.

The face was closer still, Ed strained all his senses to the limit to be ready the moment those familiar features were finally revealed. Hungering for that sight, he reached out with open arms and willed himself forward…into nightmarish discord as the surroundings vaporized and world roared back in with a horrible, bone-rattling jolt. His defenseless, searching senses were scalded and pain in his head from the shock of the abrupt termination of the process seemed to split his skull from within. He was falling in the physical world, and hit the cold, hard floor with an impact that knocked the breath out of him.

It scared the hell out of him, giving the momentary impression that the image of Al had attacked and flung him out, a falsehood that made it even harder to return to the present with any sort of handle on this new twist on reality.

That lengthy journey in Ed's world had been, in actuality, less than a minute from start to finish. When Ed's body bounced over the side rail and flew off the bed, his flesh hand was jolted away, yanked by the I.V. as it held briefly before tearing out. It broke the transmutation's circuit in mid-fall. The Colonel was upon him at once, twisting his arm up behind his back, and Ed cried out in pain and sudden effort, trying to fight away from the unknown attacker that had followed from the other side. It wasn't difficult for the larger man to restrain him.

"Get…Hobson, get… " Mustang thought fast before finishing his order. The confused Corporal stood gaping in the doorway, not at all sure what was going on.

Not the medical staff. They would take away too many options, and it exposed them to the risk of Ed being committed back to the mental ward for attempted suicide, a place too problematic for his staff's security reach. "Get Hawkeye, Armstrong, Fuery…any or all of them, whoever you can find, get at least one of them here now. I'll take the watch until you return. Now! Move!" Mustang's eyes scanned the room, focused on a way to get the markings removed before doing anything else.

Ed's world took another screaming hairpin turn as he half-recognized the Colonel's voice and realized his transmutation may have been forcibly terminated, and that the shadow figure had been left behind.

"No…no, please, let me go…" Ed's nearly beatific, meditative state of sacrifice was completely shattered by shock and fear, and his fighting did not lessen just because he thought he knew his assailant. He was battling to reclaim his place, to restart the alchemic process quickly, hoping to get back to where he had left off. His resistance was further amplified by his uncontrollable instinct to get away from capture at all cost, sharply aroused by the pain of the fall and the realization that he was being restrained. Composure lost, it drew him back into the sudden, unwanted turmoil of here and now.

"No way. What the hell did you think you were doing?" Mustang barked.

"Let me…let me…" Ed's struggle was hopeless, and his perceptions were slow to come around. That confirmed it - it wasn't Al that had attacked him, it was the Colonel's harsh and angry voice in his ear. The harder he tried to get away, the more the larger man hurt him. He didn't understand how this had happened so quickly. The figure in his transmutation had been chased off by Mustang? Then Al was lost again, but maybe he was still nearby, maybe still in close reach if he tried again quickly.

"Let you what?" The Colonel was trying to regain his composure, to slow his galloping heart and quiet his shock, fear and rage at Ed's potentially fatal transmutation. He took a shuddering deep breath and asked again in a more controlled voice. "Let you what, Ed? Tell me what you were trying to do."

"I gotta get Al! Let go, I have to do it now! Lemme go!" Ed's voice wailed. There was no relent to the maddening grip. "How could you?"

"Oh, Ed, no…you almost…for no reason. Al's alive. I told you, he's alive. You would have destroyed yourself for…" He didn't want to even think about the possibilities. Since Al was alive, if Ed had gone through with it…what would have happened? What might he have called back from the darkness at the expense of his life? Mustang bit down and set his jaw in determination. "That's it, that tears it."

Powerful arms muscled Ed to his feet, hauling him across the room into the small bathroom as he writhed to get away. The flesh arm was twisted up behind his back, safely immobilized to prevent any second attempt at the transmutation.

"Why do you hate us so much? Just let me go!"

"Come on…you need to cooperate. I'm not doing this to punish you. I'm trying to help."

Mustang used his size advantage to pin the smaller body with his own against the sink. He splashed water and liquid soap into his bare hand, smearing as much of the inked detail with the mild cleaner as he could. He couldn't chance releasing Ed until every diagram was at least destroyed enough to be rendered ineffective.

The longer he was held captive, the more aware and upset Ed became. His struggle escalated uselessly; he was too weak and ill to get loose from someone as strong as the Colonel; but his distress grew out of control at being trapped, overpowered, bleeding and in pain.

Ed's panic grew until he lost sight of what led up to this; it blurred the identity of body pressed forcefully against his. He fought blindly to be released from this far too familiar feeling of helplessness and imminent torture.

By the time Armstrong came in, Mustang had been forced to stop working on removing the ink and was concentrating on muffling his screams without suffocating or injuring him. As the second pair of hands gripped him and escape became hopeless, Ed's fighting lost all control. He thrashed into the air between them, near-fainting from hyperventilation before his struggle abruptly lost most of its power.

"These symbols. Colonel…" Armstrong panted from his dash to assist, scooping up Ed to carry and place him on the bed with arms and legs still thrashing.

"No one in or out, Hobson, not even medical personnel, until I say so. Stand to in the hall," Mustang ordered sharply, shooing the Corporal out of the room. They worked together to keep Ed on the bed, the Major pressing a cloth to the bloodied inner arm and immobilized him as carefully as he was able.

Mustang slipped the sheet up to Ed's navel to cover his vulnerable body. He snatched the alcohol bottle holding the thermometer from the counter, soaked the discarded hospital gown with the acrid pink-tinted liquid, and began using it to obliterate the rest of the ink.

Ed's movements seemed almost involuntary, until he slowed from exhaustion. His eyes closed; he appeared to be focused on attempting to catch his breath, and no longer engaged with their presence. It made him seem safe enough to let go of for the moment.

"I got here just in time, damn it. Just a few minutes later and it would have been too late."

"Those abominable symbols, did he do them all by himself, sir? Are you sure? I mean, in light of the suspicion of intruders…"

"He was finishing the last one when I caught him red-handed."

Armstrong grunted at the news. "Unless I'm interpreting the symbols incorrectly, it would have been the end of him. I knew he was despondent, but I thought we were past those days."

"It wasn't simple suicide. He said," Mustang swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing, "he was bringing Alphonse back. We need to get them together, Major. With this level of obsession I won't be able to keep him out of the institution. And we can't protect him there. No matter how badly it goes, by putting them together, at least it should put an end to this kind of nonsense."

"Agreed. To have gone this far…this is most dire."

"The soap wasn't doing much good, but the alcohol takes the ink right off. How's the arm?"

"It's not too bad. As long as I keep pressure on it, the bleeding stops. His shoulder looks appears to be swelling, though. That was quite some fight he put up."

"I tackled him after he'd started the transmutation, and he hit the floor pretty hard. But he didn't really lose control until I had him pinned."

"Mmm," Armstrong made a sad noise. "Just like before. He will always have that reaction to being restrained, I think. How could he not?"

"He did this without hesitation, right in front of me, like he'd decided to end it all. But his instincts are still geared to fight for survival." Mustang mopped over the shining, alcohol-cleansed skin a few more times, finally calming down himself, although his hand still trembled ever so slightly. "That's the last of the ink. Where's that damned pen?"

"I confiscated it already, sir. It was down in a crease in the covers."

Ed started moving his limbs, stirring slowly, finding his voice again with low, uncomfortable groans. Mustang kept a hand on his chest, lightly, just to monitor him.

"Sir," Hobson called in from the doorway. "Lieutenant Hawkeye is requesting entrance."

"Granted."

Ed started squirming at the louder voices, coming around again, just slightly less combative than when he nearly passed out.

"No…no…" Ed was looking at his now unmarked chest with wide, watery eyes. "What did you do?"

Before Mustang could answer, Ed pawed at him. "Give it back!"

"Stop it, Ed. No. I erased them."

"That's not right, you can't decide that! You hate me, not Al! Don't do this to him!"

Hawkeye joined the Major and stayed back quietly, watching.

Armstrong gave her a quick update, quietly whispering in her ear while Mustang and Ed began to engage in mild grappling. It began escalating again.

"You need to settle down. I'm going to help you get your brother back. I do know how. And you don't have to die to do it! You'll be together soon, I promise. But you have to behave, Ed."

Ed's struggling didn't stop at once; but he did seem to be less focused on resisting. He looked a little uncertain now, and not quite able to control his own motion.

"It's true, Edward," Armstrong chimed in, reminding the boy that he was still at the bedside keeping pressure on his open wound. "You can believe him. We can return Alphonse to your side. It's up to you."

He held out his free hand, and Ed shook all over, pawing then pulling back, slamming his head back into the headrail so hard the entire bed frame rattled.

Mustang took his upper arm, and he writhed sideways, frustrated in his effort to throw himself up and back again. Hitting the metal hurt, but it was something he had done of his own free will, and he felt driven to do it again and exercise that power. He kicked out and tried harder; but even that effort was forbidden now. He jerked up his automail arm, but its arc toward his own head was intercepted. The pain he tried to inflict on himself in order to get control was prevented at every move now. He began to obsess with it, and his mind fell gratefully into that rut. It was a simple focus, a strangely unemotional and stubborn willfulness. He insistently tried in every way he could to be allowed to commit moderate abuse on his own body, only relenting when his surge of energy deserted him and left him too clumsy and weak to keep at it.

"Easy now, easy. No one hates you or Alphonse. Not at all." The Colonel wasn't sure if Ed had any ability to reason at this point; his eyes just didn't seem to register. Maybe, instead of trying to get through to him, the thing to do now was to help him calm down before making him think again. "You're okay now. There's nothing to be afraid of. Just slow down."

Ed squirmed and twitched onto his side, stiffening and making a last attempt to bang his head again.

"We're going to have to call in the doctor. We're not getting through. This isn't good for him in his condition. And he needs that arm taken care of." Mustang eased back, staying close enough to intervene if the Major needed help.

Armstrong tried again, this time succeeding in getting Ed to let him take his hand for a moment before batting him away. But the batting was half-hearted now.

The blonde was running out of fight, the wind taken out of his sails physically. The bland walls came into focus and the quiet of the room sank in to his awareness. He questioned his own resistance to the Major's effort to lay a calming hand on him. But he definitely didn't want Mustang touching him; he shoved at his hands and shrank away with the last of his energy. He had frightened and hurt him while they were alone - again. He didn't trust his promise to bring Al back; he hadn't even considered that it was anything but a cruel lie until Armstrong confirmed that it was possible. Even at that, he didn't think he'd follow through unless the others were there to influence him.

The Colonel had decided somewhere along the way that Ed was a pest to be exterminated, or at best, kicked like an unwanted stray. It hurt to lose the connection with another person he cared about, and it made him feel stupid to have thought that the man had actually felt something besides official responsibility for him. He was just like all the other significant adults in his life, they all died or abandoned him rather quickly because of the foul luck that surrounded him like swarming locust. He wanted to bring Al back but the idea of them being back together at the same time worried him now. His ominous personal cloud would continue to have a negative impact on Al, he was sure.

This wasn't any sort of relief. Relief had been a great side benefit of his plan to sacrifice himself to return Al. It had put everything else on pause, and supplied him with a desirable, clear-cut path. It had been irrelevant, really, the fact that it was his own death he was engineering. It wasn't suicide. It was justifiable sacrifice, a noble deed; and finally, finally absolution for his lifetime of wrongs. His lifespan had barely begun, and he had wrought so much sorrow and evil already. To stop and pay the piper now only made sense. His karma debt was already racked so high, paying with his very life was verging on insufficient funds to clear his account.

They were telling him things his mind couldn't fully understand, too much noise to have to deal with on top of the gut-wrenching defeat the Colonel had just dealt him in his war to retrieve his brother. He couldn't make sense of what was happening. That very same man was hovering over him, making sounds of sympathy, treating him gently. It really was the Colonel, he had checked; but his behavior was so damned confusing.

Being crushed vulnerably against the sink minutes before by the fully-dressed, overpowering, angry officer had left the distrustful chill of déjà vu floating in the forefront of his mind.

"Ed," Mustang said quietly. He went to pet Ed's tousled head reassuringly and watched him flinch away, as if he expected to be struck. Things were so complicated right now. Ed needed to be reassured that he would not hurt him intentionally. "I'm sorry I had to be so rough with you. I wasn't about to let you throw your life away like that."

Ed's breathing slowed slightly. He stiffly allowed the hand to touch his head this time, peering past the dark-eyed man to take in Hawkeye and Armstrong's expressions. They didn't seem to be alarmed that Mustang was in striking distance. He wasn't sure it was so very important now anyway, whether Mustang took to openly beating him or not. The jumbled thoughts that had been suppressed in the calm of his determination to die were flooding back in now, assailing his defenseless mind with swiftly rising intensity. The returning mental chaos had a sound all its own, akin to a storm of colliding river rocks, clacking against one another as they flew. They showed no sign of coming to rest, instead ricocheting endlessly against the inside of his skull and each other as they sped up and multiplied in number. The onslaught of sound swiftly drowned out everything else.

"Hello, Ed," Hawkeye positioned herself in his wavering field of vision and smiled, trying to ease the tension with a casual demeanor.

Ed only blinked at her, nearly nauseous with the effort of focusing on her face in the mounting confusion. Her voice had barely been detectable over the increasing barrage of noise.

She hardly knew what to say now that she had his attention. _Gee, Ed, heard you nearly killed yourself a few minutes ago. Nice weather we're having._

"I'm so glad you're all right," she managed. Except he really wasn't.

He gave up, she couldn't be understood over the racket at all now. He tried covering his ears, but it didn't help since the noise was coming from within. A new touch brought his eyes up again, and he saw Mustang's hand, now on his upper arm. His heavy, uneven sigh was the only response. That, and a bone-deep shiver.

"You're warm again. Let's get you looked at. You need your arm taken care of." Mustang said.

"I'll notify the orderly," Hawkeye offered.

"Thanks, Lieutenant. Tell them…he had a nightmare and managed to fall out of bed. Have someone come check on him right away."

"Of course. Hold on, Ed."

Ed's baleful look turned to the Major. Of them all, maybe if he said something in that throaty baritone, it would be loud enough to break through.

"It's going to be fine, lad. It's worth it, right? To see Alphonse again?"

The automail hand worried against his chest restlessly as he watched the mustached mouth move, hearing only the deafening clatter. The Major was holding the makeshift compress to his flesh arm, making that sad yet kind expression. If he weren't so far beyond it, it would have made Ed cry for them both. But , a more penetrating sorrow was beginning to wring silent tears from his eyes already, and the image of the kindly Major stung and blurred. He had been defeated, and he and Alphonse had suffered another earth-shattering loss. He had been so close to succeeding this time, it made the failure nearly unbearable.

Ed startled from his grieving thoughts by the flash of movement at the edge of his smeared field of vision and grabbed for Armstrong when the door opened suddenly. The burly alchemist felt a pang of sympathy for Mustang as he moved away, conceding the role of caregiver to him once more. It was good in a way, though. Ed was still reaching out to one of them, at least.

It was the nurse who had come in with the Lieutenant, tch'ing at the fallen I.V. pole and the general disarray.

"Stay with him, Major," Mustang said, heading out into the hall. He glared at Hobson for a moment as the door fell shut.

"Sir?" Hobson asked nervously.

"Do you have any clue what just transpired in there?"

"No, sir."

"Would you like to explain to me why? You were charged with guarding this man, Corporal."

"With respect, I did, sir. No one in or out, per your orders."

Mustang's blood began to boil. "It never occurred to you to check in on him from time to time? I leave you responsible for a man's general welfare, a man who is ill, a man with known mental health issues, and you don't so much as stick your nose in the door for…how long, Hobson? How the hell long?"

"Sir! I was trying to avoid talking to him, in case he asked about his brother again."

"How the hell long, Hobson! Answer me! That's an order!"

"Sir! Since commencement of shift, sir!"

Three and a half hours. It was official. Mustang wanted to kick his ass right here in the hall.

Hawkeye stepped out. She'd heard enough, and Ed seemed leery of her anyway, so she chose to venture out to try and diffuse the situation.

"The nurse had to call Dr. Gansworth. He'll likely want a word with you about all this," she interrupted.

"Had to call him?"

"Procedure. Since he, ah, fell."

"He fell?" Hobson asked uncomfortably. Was there another fall, or were they making something up to cover up the way the Colonel had knocked him off the bed? He felt unfairly accused. The Colonel had been in and visited just an hour or two before, and apparently, he hadn't noticed anything. Why was he supposed to have noticed something when a visitor familiar with him did not?

"He was in distress, Corporal. He was endangering himself. And, had I not entered the room at the time, he may have spent four more hours with no help while you daydream outside!"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean, sorry, sir! I was following orders as I understood them, sir!" The things he had seen were starting to make some sense. It had been the start of a transmutation of some sort, just as he'd though. The Colonel has been struggling with him, trying to prevent something. As confused as he was about what happened, he still felt he had done what he had been instructed to do. They hadn't given him enough information to have been on the alert for whatever went on in there.

"I am not pleased with you right now. When you are relieved from duty, you're to be confined to quarters until further notice."

"Sir. Yes, sir." Hobson saluted grimly, and Mustang stalked off without returning it. Hawkeye returned it instead.

"I would not want to be you if one more thing goes wrong here before you're relieved,' Hawkeye warned.

"Yes. Ma'am."

She took off after the Colonel, leaving Hobson to hold his breath and his tongue until they were well out of sight.

xxxxxx

The mental noise grew until it rattled his bones with the hollow realization that his plan was truly dead; as dead as his lost brother must surely be, hope slaughtered by the only humans he was in contact with. Al was trapped and left behind after such a close brush with rescue. It called up a few segments of hidden memory from his mental ward days, long stretches of time restrained to prevent all voluntary movement yet exposed for continual observation around the clock. People gawked at him, did things to his body, talked about him, stood over him with their power and freedom - and then left him, time after time, walking away blithely and leaving him to suffer in bondage.

The stranded, vulnerable feeling seeped into his heart and worsened everything. The doctor's questions went unanswered, the warning to prepare him for the sting of the shot to deaden his arm for stitching failed to do so, and the constant reassurance never sank in. Ed grew more internally focused and miserable, taking the abuse unresisting. Dr. Gansworth increased his medication once the IV lines were re-established, and sent Ed on into dreamland, since nothing seemed to be working for him.

It wasn't much of a dreamland. Ed lingered in a tedious, gray dream of repetitive frustration, trying over and over to accomplish some vague and impossible goal while kneeling on a splintered wood floor. Not quite dream and not quite nightmare, it went on and on. It was quiet, mercifully quiet in the dream, though. And in it, he was very much alone, free of prying eyes and unwelcome hands.

The discussion between Mustang and the doctor did not get off on the right foot. Dr. Gansworth did not take the story about Ed merely falling as the truth. Mustang was leery of revealing too much. The doctor pushed impatiently for the information he felt that Mustang was withholding, finally resorting to the threat of placing Ed on a medical hold and getting his own answers.

Of all of the doctors, he was the one who had patiently pried the true nature of Al's live burial from the younger Elric's own lips. And now, if need be, he would try to get Ed's story from the horse's mouth as well. This ran much deeper than he had foreseen; but instead of being off-put, he became more convinced that he might be the only one with medical expertise who could truly be of help to the boys. He recognized that their secret had to be kept; but most of that cat was in his bag as well now, and they would be wise to fully inform him and trust that he would not let it out.

"I am attempting to be of as much help as I can here, Colonel. Understand that there may be no second choice specialist once you've declined Central's first choice. Without Dr. Wall, you're left with your own amateur skills, sincere though they may be. I have quite a bit of field experience with treating traumatized soldiers. I can be of significant help. But you can't stonewall me. You have to tell me the truth." Dr. Gansworth was firm, but without anger or malice. "I understand that some things are classified. But I probably know a great deal that I shouldn't already. I've been involved with his case since the beginning."

"This isn't just a matter of something being classified, Doctor. There's a measure of personal risk involved with this area of knowledge."

"We're military men, Colonel. Despite my appearance, I'm a soldier in my own right as well. I've been in the trenches; it's part of my job to share the risks in order to reach the injured. Under the heaviest of fire, the cries for 'medic' must be answered. This is clearly a downed man. It's my job to reach him if at all possible."

Mustang nodded; as valuable as the medics were, they were routinely subjected to the highest risks. It was an irrefutable point. He relented and revealed Ed's attempt to sacrifice himself for what it apparently was.

The doctor shook his head slowly.

"Regardless of the goal, you must realize that it was attempted suicide. This isn't something you can distract him from and then pretend it didn't happen. This is as serious as it gets."

"He's being watched around the clock. I wasn't being careless with his safety by keeping this from your staff. I was trying to control the variables by keeping this quiet. I don't want him shipped off to the rubber room again. I can't protect him well enough there."

"Colonel, I am not accusing you of anything, certainly not of neglect. But there's protection, and there's protection. Yes, you have the upper hand on intruders when you have him in your care. But he also needs protection from himself at this point. From his own unstable impulses, bad judgment and loss of control. You can't just restrict him and use surveillance forever; it's time to address his mental status by being more active in helping him find ways to heal, and so far, that's not happening. That's where I'm still having heartburn. And I suppose, that's why I'm going to insist that I start working with him on another level; someone has to assume the role of therapist if Dr. Wall is out of the picture. I've had some experience working with traumatic stress patients and I think it's worth a try. If I find that I'm in too far over my head, I should know it fairly quickly. In more favorable circumstances, I might recommend waiting until the right specialist can be found; but in light of this incident, I think he needs our help now."

"Anything that helps him without putting him at risk works for me, Doctor. You do understand that this needs to be unofficial. Certain aspects of this need to stay out of the reports. Again, it's to protect him." Mustang's gaze was unwavering as a change in the angle of light reduced the glint of Gansworth's glasses and allowed a better view; the pale blue eyes were tired, concerned and sincere.

From two different angles, they came to recognize that they held the same goal after all. Mustang was not going to blindly follow the recommendations from Central and their less than satisfactory expert; and Gansworth was not hell-bent on foisting Ed off on the mental facility to ease the hospital's burden of responsibility in caring for someone so clearly disturbed. Bottom line, irrespective of their official positions, they both surprised one another with their mutual sympathy for Ed and their willingness to stretch rules and arrange for special exceptions to try and help him.

"It was our opinion that the sooner we get him back in his own room, the better. After he adjusts back to being there, my next step was going to be re-introducing his brother; with time and some luck, they should bond again, and make it possible to keep them together. "

"I understand your thought process, Colonel. It has the potential to be a great help to him, and perhaps to Alphonse as well. But I can't stress enough that you mustn't lose sight of the fact that he's still very disturbed. Both of them are, actually. So I would insist that they not be left alone together. Even if things appear to go well, I would supervise them for quite some time. If something triggers a memory or sets off a reaction unexpectedly, it could be tragic. Can you imagine if one of them were to suddenly be confronted with an attack by the other?"

Mustang could have imagined it, but he didn't have to, having witnessed Ed's transmutation attack on Alphonse in his own office.

"I fully understand what you're saying, Doctor. Believe me. I know that they need to be watched closely."

"Very well. His condition is stable but not strong. I know you'd like to do this as soon as possible, but in my opinion, he's not well enough for the stress yet. He could relapse. We're just not getting the upper hand on the infection. Let's give him two more days at least. I'm being more than reasonable, Colonel. He'd be looking at about two more weeks here if I were to follow through on my original assessment."

Mustang nodded.

"Even at that, he'll be taking the IV with him. If you don't want the bother of that sort of medication, then you are looking at a week at least."

"We can deal. How often can you spare someone to check on him?"

"I'm very concerned, I'd rather err on the side of caution. If he were to leave in two days, I'd want someone from the medical staff to be in attendance that first day through. After that, morning, noon, evening and midnight visits at minimum for the remainder of his time on the IV. And, Colonel, one other thing."

"Yes?"

"I did not ask for your permission for this, because it has become medically necessary. But you should know, I'm having him set up on a feeding tube today. This hit-or-miss, ridiculously insignificant amount of nutrition he'll accept is just not sustaining him. The intubation isn't horribly uncomfortable in itself. The introduction of food into his stomach will be the most problematic thing for him. From what I've seen he has a strong phobic reaction to that normally pleasant sensation of having his hunger alleviated. It's like he's violently opposed to having food inside him. I haven't figured out what the association is that causes him to have that particular reaction, but at this point it doesn't much matter. He must be fed to survive, and he so rarely overcomes his resistance to it, that it must now be forced."

"Can we talk about that? We had a man helping him before, a Lieutenant Havoc. He was able to coax him into taking most of his meals. Can't we try having him help first? Doing things to Ed by forcing him should be our last resort."

"Get him in here and show me he can get him to eat, then. If he can, we'll discuss it. If not he gets the tube by sixteen hundred hours. I can't relent on this."

"I understand. I'll see to it right away."

"Havoc. That's the tall blonde fellow helping out Alphonse, am I right?"

"He's been helping Al exclusively. My fault. I should have had him shifting between the two. It's just that Al doesn't trust the other men."

"No. He's very guarded, even with staff here. His brother is the only person he has left, isn't he? It was a good thing your Havoc was there for him when Dr. Wall got through with him. On the subject of Alphonse, he could be released any day. We've come up negative on his neurological screening. Would you prefer that we held him here until Edward has had a chance to be returned and acclimated?"

"Actually, it's more difficult to keep an eye on them around the clock while they're here. Since Al's ready, we'll go ahead and take him to the main building and find him a nice secure place to stay."

"I'm relieved to hear that you've taken their well-being so much to heart, Colonel Mustang. I had hoped that was the reason Edward had been allowed to spend so much time at the base instead of the institution. But in this man's military, it was pretty hard to believe."

"Thanks, Doctor - but just one more thing. Any opinions on their recovery?"

"Well. That's not an easy thing to answer. I'm sure they'll improve. Probably to the point where they can be on their own someday. The younger brother, in particular. He has serious problems, but his judgment is still fairly sound. Edward…is more at risk. He hasn't established a solid relationship with reality yet, and it's been over a year since his incident. I do realize he's come a long way. I look at the report that I wrote when you first brought him in here, and it still has tremendous emotional impact, even for me. But I think we're looking at a very, very long time before we see his self-reliance re-establish. Until then, my greatest hope for him is that he finds something positive to center his thoughts on to help him stay afloat. It would help him to be more comfortable with his captivity; and concentrating his energy and his thoughts on something tangible should start to make him feel less threatened."

Captivity. Mustang heard that word as a sour note, but he knew what Gansworth was getting at. Ed would probably need many more months, if not years, of confinement, for his own safety.

They parted company with a mutual pact to keep things quiet for now.

xxxxxx

Ed was trying to cooperate, but every time the Major tried to position his legs, he instinctively tried to pull them back up again.

"Let's try again," Armstrong said patiently. "Try to relax."

Ed frowned and tried harder, jerking his legs away at the last minute again.

"Well, that is exercise of a sort. But we need to do the stretching, too, Edward. You've been having too much cramping. Now straighten out again for me please. We'll keep this up until we get it right."

Ed tried, he couldn't understand why the hands that were attempting to pull on his ankles made his stomach ice up. He just had to wrench loose and get away.

"Again, Edward."

"I c-can't."

"Straighten again, you can do it."

Ed shook his head hard. Armstrong's hands encircled his ankles and he started kicking.

"Let go!"

The edge of panic in his voice startled the Major, and he let go immediately. So that was the problem. It wasn't that Ed didn't want to do his exercises; he didn't want his ankles held.

"Sorry, Edward. I'll let you do it by yourself. Just be careful. Stay straight and don't lift from the hip."

Ed gave a few half-hearted attempts, getting a fair approximation of the movement down before giving up. He tucked up into a tight ball and waved off the request to try again. Mustang was the Major's boss, so he had to do as he was told. But the fact was, he had decided to obey orders instead of intervening when the Colonel had attacked him. If nothing else, it hurt his feelings to be so low on everyone's list.

Armstrong sighed. Since his attempt to transmute himself, Ed was all at sea again, unable to concentrate, erratically emotional, and rarely willing to engage with anyone for more than a few minutes.

He perked up when a voice came to him from the doorway. The only thing they had managed to do for him was to prevent him from getting the feeding tube. The person responsible for that small favor had just arrived with lunch.

"Hey, Boss. Major." Havoc smiled broadly as he shouldered open the door, hands full with a loaded tray.

Ed wasn't smiling, but his body had loosened and he turned to watch Havoc willingly, scooting up higher to sit up straight. Havoc had started to visit again, but he never stayed long enough. It made Ed tense, knowing the stay would end before he was ready.

"Lieutenant Havoc," Armstrong returned the acknowledgement. He supposed he knew now how the Colonel must have felt when he first succeeded him as Ed's preferred caregiver. Now Havoc was the person Ed turned away from all others for when he arrived on the scene. Of course, the Major was glad for Ed's ability to relate to Havoc. But he missed his spot as Ed's go-to guy. He shrugged it off as more of his own sappy foolishness. "Here for the duration?"

"Just for a while," Havoc replied. He set the tray on the rolling table and pushed it closer to Ed. The mixed feelings crawled over the young man's face. He was drawn to Havoc, wanted to get close to him, longing to hear him talk. But he was also repulsed by the food, and he was fully aware that Havoc was just here to feed him.

Ed's eyes traveled over the contents of the tray and turned back up in an attentive stare, waiting for Havoc to make sounds or do something so he could watch him.

"Got some good eats here today, Boss. Smells great. Doesn't it, Major?"

"Oh, indeed," Armstrong said with enthusiasm. "It looks wonderful."

Ed frowned and sighed. Slight nausea danced in his upper belly, and he rubbed it without thinking.

"Hungry?" Havoc was hopeful when he saw the hand motion.

Ed's cringe at that question was his only answer.

"Still a little sick, then?" Havoc asked, softly.

Ed nodded, pressing both of his hands to his stomach.

"Sorry to hear that, buddy. But we have to get a little something down, right? You don't want that feeding tube, do you?"

Ed shook his head.

"Attaboy. Everything here is soft and easy on your stomach. How about a little rice? Here you go."

Havoc began to distract Ed with his story then, taking up where he'd left off last time. His anecdotal tales of working at his family's business when he was little were sometimes amusing, sometimes little better than meaningless noise - but they kept Ed rapt. The Major excused himself once he started up, taking a break, letting the man take care of things. The more Ed got caught up in the sound and pattern of Havoc's speech, the more his tension faded; the revulsion at the process of eating became less insurmountable, although it still wasn't pleasant.

It had reached the point were Ed was taking in the rice a grain at a time, feeling more nauseated, but unwilling to stop because he knew Havoc was only there until he finished.

He was stressing again, nervous about being abandoned. When he couldn't bear to keep picking at the food, he reached out and gripped the blue jacket hard, nearly tipping the rolling table. Havoc caught it to prevent it from falling and pushed it away, rising to his feet.

"Don't," Ed blurted.

"I'm not." Havoc sat on the edge of the bed instead, and Ed was able to get both arms around him. "I wasn't leaving yet."

Ed's face buried into his hip, so Havoc had a good view of his bandaged shoulder. The area had finally lost most of the redness around it, supporting the recent news he'd heard that Ed was being released tomorrow.

Man, every meal was this huge emotional event, Ed versus food, it just had to get better at some point. Havoc soothed him with a reassuring hand, running it over his hair and back. The kid's grip never seemed to loosen.

"You must be glad to be getting out of here. Its going to be good to have you back."

"I don't know!" Ed said, his tone distressed.

"No?" Havoc shifted, moving closer instead of away, continuing his supportive contact. "You'll be back in your room again. It's more comfortable there than here, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I don't know. He said…" Ed's voice trailed off.

"What, Ed? Come on now, you can talk to me. You know that, right? You don't have to worry about what you say to me. It's all right, whatever it is."

"He said…I'd see Al. But I don't know! I don't know. I don't understand. I don't."

"You're really worried about seeing him, I can tell. But it's a good thing, Ed. It's what you've been wanting for a long time."

"But I didn't pay. I didn't pay the price to get him back, how can it be?"

Havoc looked down, and Ed was resting his head on his leg, eyes wide and sad.

"You paid plenty. Plenty. More than most people would ever dream of. Enough to get five Als back."

Ed sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head in doubt. Havoc stayed where he was, letting Ed use his lap for a pillow. When the Major returned many minutes later, Ed hadn't relaxed his grip at all.

"Major Armstrong is back, Ed. I need to go take care of some things. I'll be back…"

"No! I don't want you to go."

"It's all right, here, the Major will sit by you. I really do have to go."

"Please…don't leave yet."

"Sorry, Boss. I'll be back before you know it."

Havoc stood slowly, keeping Ed in his control, waiting while the Major settled into his place.

"Edward, I've brought the salve for your shoulder. Let's try it now and see if it helps those sores." Armstrong flipped the cap open. "Does this smell like the kind you were using before?"

Ed's attention wavered, and he leaned over to sniff the tube, still holding on to Havoc. The smell was unique and familiar, stirring up some cloudy memories that prompted him to shift focus and smell the hand next, to be sure of the Major's authenticity before exposing himself for treatment.

"Would you like me to help you with your garment?"

Ed let go and held up his arms; Havoc made for the door quietly while Armstrong's body was blocking him from view, the massive soldier purposely taking his time getting the gown untied and pulled up and off.

By the time he returned his attention to look for Havoc, he was on his way out the door. Ed watched him unhappily but didn't protest any further.

"Tell me if this hurts at all, Edward." The large, powerful hands applied careful pressure to massage in the soothing ointment at the delicate and irritated point of transition between flesh and metal. Al had explained some of the procedures for addressing Ed's more common problems, and his explanation for this had been very precise. Al had not been good at it, but he had been forced to do this for Ed on many occasions anyway. His armor did not give him the tactile feedback to apply the correct pressure, and he had to rely on Ed's protests to determine when he was rubbing too hard.

Ed's tension lessened, his whole upper body giving slightly with the methodical motions.

"Does it hurt?"

"Nuh. Feels okay." Ed sighed, getting a little more relaxed. His tension headache was fading, too, and the relief from that was palpable on its own.

"Good. Very good. I'm getting to the worst part now. Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

"It feels good the way you do it."

"Excellent. I don't want to hurt you."

"You don't." Ed scrunched his eyes shut for a minute to think. The Major really didn't want to hurt him. The Major forgave him for the things he had done. Havoc, too. But not everyone was that way. "But the Colonel does."

"He doesn't want to hurt you at all. He feels the same way that I do."

"When you're looking."

The massive alchemist paused. "And when I'm not looking?"

"Then he'll do things."

"Oh." He resumed his work, and Ed loosened up again. "Have you considered that you might be wrong?"

"I…yeah…but…" Ed wobbled when the Major's hands changed direction.

"The Colonel has made a great effort to give you comfortable lodgings, and when your brother was found, he took him in as well. That doesn't sound like someone who's out to hurt you, does it?"

"He took in my brother," Ed mumbled, shaking his head in doubt at the statement. A touch of tension crept back in. "You just say it like it's true. But then you don't let me see him."

"Soon, Ed. You'll get to see him. You'll understand soon." He finished and picked up the faded green gown, waiting for Ed to notice and get into position for re-dressing.

"It's not soon. It's long. It's been really long. I don't wanna wait any more."

A knock on the outer doorframe sent Ed half-upright.

"Al? Are they bringing him now? Is that it?" he asked breathlessly. He put a hand on Armstrong's shoulder to leverage himself up, swiftly searching from the serious blue eyes to the doorway and back.

"Whoa, no, no it's not…it's not going to be a surprise. I'd know first." The Major kept him from coming off the bed in a rush. "Don't get your hopes up."

"But…but…" Ed's head shook helplessly back and forth. It wasn't right that they kept telling him Al was here while keeping them apart.

"Edward," Dr. Gansworth said, stepping in through the door. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you."

Ed's lower lip plumped out and he sat down hard on the bed, folding his arms and landing on his butt with a sulky grunt. They were screwing with him, one way or the other. That petulant lip began to quake almost as soon as it appeared, and he fought off tears of frustration and humiliation.

If Al was here there'd be no reason the stop them from seeing one another. None whatsoever.

No one was telling the truth.

Al was not here.

Everyone had turned against him.

"Liar!" He shoved Armstrong away with all the strength he could muster. "Get away and leave me alone!"

The Major looked to the doctor with worry, unprepared for such a reaction.

Dr. Gansworth watched for a moment to size up the situation, pausing to consider his next course of action carefully.

_tbc_


	21. Chapter 21

_This will never get posted if I wait until it edits right - so please bear with this chapter so we can get on to the next one!_

**Chapter 21**

"Edward," Doctor Gansworth said. "I'd like you to settle down now. I've just come by to check on you."

Ed did a double-take that jerked him out of his angry accusation in mid-rant; he shivered hard before drawing back to watch the tall, thin figure approach. The doctor didn't look right, and he wasn't sure why. He crossed his arms over his bare midsection protectively, suddenly regretting his outburst at the Major.

His level of alert doubled when they were nearing arm's length. This didn't look like Dr. Gansworth, he looked younger, and softer, and Ed began scoot back and away from him, looking for an escape route. He no longer wanted to let the Major out of reach. In fact, he reached back and grabbed for him blindly, never letting the doctor out of his sight.

Gansworth stopped approaching, gearing his own behavior to try and control the interaction.

"Edward? Look at me, son. You know me. Think about it for a minute." He reached out slowly, palm up, and waited. "Do you want to take my hand?"

Amber eyes traveled past the outstretched hand and up the bare arm. There was a patch of red on the inside of the forearm, like a birthmark, and Ed slowly put together that he had never seen it before, because it was always covered by the starched white sleeves of a coat. It clicked then, what was wrong with this picture.

The man was wearing casual clothes; khaki pants and a soft, cocoa-colored shirt with short sleeves. It made him look younger and less severe, more approachable. That was the difference.

Ed reached out hesitantly and drew the hand to his face, testing. There was no foul odor, just the lightly medicinal scent left from repeated washing with hospital soap.

"Is that a little better?" Gansworth asked, bending down slightly so he wouldn't be towering over his patient. He drew the bedside chair away from the wall until it faced the bed. "I'd like to spend some time finding out how you're feeling. Mind if I sit?"

Ed let go of his hand sheepishly. The doctor sat and motioned to the Major.

"Don't stop on my account. I suspect you'd like to finish getting dressed, wouldn't you, Edward?" Gansworth selectively ignored the fact that Ed had been telling off Armstrong before he interrupted; he would have to talk to the Major about it later, though, to reassure him that it was actually a good sign. The fact that Ed was secure enough in the huge man's behavior to yell at him without fear was a positive indicator of trust on the most basic level, regardless of whatever issue had set him off. For now, the wind had clearly gone out of Ed's sails as far as his anger went and he was clinging to the giant alchemist once again.

The automail arm was still raised, guarding his torso; Gansworth watched him closely as the Major held up the institutional garment to pull it down over his head. Ed left the automail protectively in place until the cloth covered most of his middle, then darted the metal arm quickly into the sleeve. The other side was open at the seam, to allow it to be slipped on without interfering with the I.V.; once it was draped properly, the Major carefully tied it on.

Ed kept the doctor in his wary gaze. When Armstrong finished dressing him and started to step away, Ed caught his sleeve again and stopped him.

"The Major can stay if you like," Gansworth offered. "And if he doesn't mind."

"Of course I don't mind, as long as it's all right with Edward. I'd be happy to stay."

"Were you…were you going home?" Ed asked, his voice so soft it was difficult to understand. He was focusing on questioning the doctor; since he didn't release his hold, the Major took that as a request to stay close.

"No. I came to see you. Can you tell me why you're asking?" Gansworth asked with a tone quieted to match his patient's.

Ed pondered his answer and then took a few moments to gather up his composure to deliver it.

"Because you're out of uniform."

Gansworth nodded and smiled disarmingly, pleased at Ed's ability to notice and form a logical, if not correct, interpretation of the change in his appearance.

"Ah. Yes, I suppose I am from your point of view. I've simply taken off my doctor's coat, that's all. I don't really need it on right now. I don't think I need to worry about getting anything on my clothes from just talking to you." More importantly, he had removed it because the white coat was a symbol of his status and authority, and it would set the wrong tone for their interaction. For this, he wanted to be seen as a benevolent, non-judgmental and supportive friend.

"Oh." Ed was getting a little self-conscious holding onto the Major, but he really didn't want him to go.

"Well, then. I just wanted to ask a few questions to find out how you're doing. I guess the obvious one is, how are you feeling today?"

Ed shrugged and started to turn his attention back to Armstrong; Gansworth recognized that he was trying to get some distance from the situation. He decided to try being slightly less direct.

"Your recovery from the shoulder wound is going well now. We have the opportunity to allow you to leave a bit early. Is that something that interests you, Edward? Would you like to get out of the hospital sooner?"

A little suspicious, Ed nodded.

"Good. Good. I wanted to be sure that we were doing something you agreed with. You have a place you'd like to return to, is that correct?"

Ed nodded again.

"Who do you stay with?"

Ed didn't answer, so the doctor prompted him once more. It would be helpful to know the young man's perceptions, to see how well they aligned with the facts of the situation.

"It's important that you try and answer my questions, Edward, so that I can have the information I need to process your release. All right? I need to know who you think you'll be staying with."

"Well…" Ed tugged on the Major, who had been patiently waiting. "Him."

"I see. And is the Major your guardian?"

Ed shook his head, casting his eyes down. "The Colonel is."

"Ah. That's right. You've been the Colonel's dependent for some time now. Since he brought you to the hospital, way back when you were first injured, and they needed someone to make decisions for you."

Ed shocked at the brief flash of memory that the connection to that statement provoked in his head. The knowledge fled from his consciousness just as quickly, leaving him dazed but at a loss to explain it.

"First injured…" he breathed, talking to himself. He released his hold on Armstrong to cross his arms over his stomach and rock forward worriedly.

"Do you remember that, Edward?"

The room was very quiet; the muffled squeak of wheels from a cart passing in the hallway came and went. There was no reply.

"Edward, I'm not asking you to tell me what you recall. I'm certain that it would be hard to verbalize, and unless you would like to talk about it, I think that's a little too much to start off with. Okay? So, please - I'm just asking if you do remember."

Ed took a deep breath, then another. It took quite a bit of effort to overcome the instinct to clam up, even though this wasn't an interrogation and he didn't sense any malice.

"N-no. I mean, sometimes I might. But not really."

"You have some difficulty remembering. How do you feel about that?" It was hard to tell if Edward was being honest. Whether or not he consciously remembered, his behavior clearly revealed that the question had stirred up some unpleasantness.

"Feel?" Ed looked at his mismatched hands. "I can't…feel about it. I don't know."

"You're not feeling anything right now?"

Ed frowned absently in thought. "No, that's wrong. There's a lot."

"There are a lot of things going on inside of you right now, is that what you're saying? Can you describe those emotions for me?"

"Oh…that…that would be hard." He reached for the Major again until his fingertips found the reassuring heavy cloth.

"Yes, Edward, I can understand how hard it must be for you to put into words how you might be feeling. But I don't want to guess. So just try, okay? Start out slow."

He sighed heavily and twisted the Major's coat in his hands. Thinking was slow and heavy going today, and all this talk was such an effort. He would be really angry with himself if he had to stay here longer because he hadn't answered the doctor's questions properly. His emotional state was more of a mess when he tried to focus on it clearly, but he pushed himself to cooperate.

"I feel kinda…worried maybe. And tired."

"I see. Anything else?"

"Um, well, uncomfortable, and …sort of…down. But not sorry for myself. Just…sorry for everything, you know? Maybe sometimes just a little scared. But not now! Only when there's something to be scared about."

Gansworth nodded. Ed was being remarkably candid, even if he was trying to downplay some aspects. He was clearly very nervous and at least somewhat afraid.

"Okay, that's a good start! That's very good, Edward. I know how hard it can be sort through your thoughts. So you said you were worried. Let's take a look at that, shall we? Can you tell me what your worries are right now?"

"I need the Major to stay and I think he's going to leave," Ed shot back. He met Armstrong's surprised look with a blush. "I mean, he's supposed to stay. I shouldn't have yelled at him. I mean…"

"I'll stay as long as you need me," Armstrong rumbled, using the arm not seized by Ed's nervous grip to pat the soft blond hair. He'd have to talk to Gansworth later and explain that this was just Ed's way, ever since he began staying with them here. He needed to touch them or their clothes, to physically hold on to the people he relied on. It would serve as a warning, too, because when Ed needed to grab you, he wasn't always in complete control, and things spilled, tipped over or fell now and then as a result.

"Don't listen to me if I tell you to go!" The pale face was distraught with the knowledge that he couldn't always trust himself.

"I can handle it when you have to blow off a little steam. I wasn't going to leave you alone, even if you insisted," Armstrong assured.

"Is that the concern, Edward? Are you worried about being alone?" Gansworth prodded. He saw the physical reaction to his words and stopped. He had hit a major nerve.

Ed went stiff under the Major's hand, breathing hard, lost between grabbing for support and balling up tight. The world shifted around him, driven by the sustained exposure to his own feelings as his focus was forced to rest on just one of his countless current issues.

"Lost. All alone," he gasped, then shook his head hard as if to take it back.

'No, you won't be alone. I said I'd stay," the Major began helpfully.

"Wait a moment, Major," hushed the doctor, leaning a little closer to take in every facial movement and nuance of voice. "Go on, Edward."

It took a few moments before Ed looked up, still distressed, a light blush on his cheeks.

Embarrassed at his sudden, uncontrolled gush of insecurity, Gansworth interpreted.

"No, that's…so selfish. You're all helping me, but it's Al that's alone. Al…"

"You think that if your brother is alone, it's not okay for you to say that you feel alone as well? Even if that's the way you feel?"

"It's because we…I mean he…he's the one who's lost. I lost him. It's what I did to him. But we're here."

"We're here, as you say. Here. We. So - do you still think you're lost now? And alone? "

It sounded kind of stupid when the doctor put it that way. The edge of panic softened a little.

"Well…it's…it's wrong, see, I'm wrong. And I'm getting all this attention and it's not me that needs help but Al, and I'm just being weird and not …not…just…but there, just then, it was all like something was happening."

"You know, I can tell by looking at you when you're experiencing something disturbing. Did you realize that? It might help if we talk about how that feels, and if you would like to have one of us try some things that might help you cope with it when it happens."

"It feels like everything, even when it's just for a second, then after, it's nothing, but it doesn't help. When it happens again it's still everything and I forget its not."

Gansworth took a deep breath, getting into the flow of Ed's awkward attempt to explain. Ed had nearly come full circle, calmed down to the more moderate, nervous state they had started in.

"You can't see this experience objectively until afterward. Is that what you're saying?"

Ed nodded.

"And while you are immersed in it? Is it the same experience every time?"

"No. But it's always something bad."

"Do you know when it's going to happen?"

Ed shook his head, but slowly, and his eyes narrowed. "It's a thought." His voice was quiet again, his attention turned inward.

"Don't lose that…I think you may have come up with something. Explain that a little more."

"There's a thought - like just then - but it gets big, like a giant, like a monster, in just a flash. And then it sucks up the world, and my heart and throat almost come out through my mouth, and you can't breathe from that smell. It presses everywhere, it smashes so hard it hurts."

"I'm trying to understand, so please be patient with me. Can you describe the thought and what it did here a few minutes ago? Go slowly for me, all right?"

Ed's fists clenched, and he closed his eyes hard. "The thought was…it was…about losing everything again and again. Then it…made me lost and it was taking me away. And - blip! - I was in it and this all was falling apart. But then it didn't go all the way like it does. It got interrupted."

"Yes, that's good, you're really remembering well, and that can be hard when things are disturbing. You've told me what happened - how did it feel?"

Ed's hands wandered to his mouth and covered it. Gansworth took in that revealing display of body language and pried gently.

"Maybe just a word or two to describe it. If it's too hard, we can come back to this another time."

Ed grimaced. He thought of an avalanche of words to describe it all at once. It felt like the shock of stumbling off a cliff at a fatal height, like plunging unavoidably into the cold and lonely death he'd earned as a failure and an unworthy soul. A damning knowledge had been thrust into his core, and if he accepted it as fact, it meant the end of all things. It wasn't new. This was the most common theme of the panic attack, or mental aberration, or schizophrenic event - whatever the hell it was - and it never seemed to wane in power despite his growing familiarity with it. It usually lasted longer, and he was mildly grateful that their intervention had cut it short this time. But because he had been through it so often, he was starting to hate himself for believing it was real and being so completely immersed in it every time.

He was disappointed in the way he was still reacting so strongly. His heart was just now settling down to a reasonable thunder. He was still deeply discouraged that they had stopped him from trading his life for Al's; this pants-pissing fear of imaginary death made that seem like a lie.

He didn't want to revisit that awful feeling, and he didn't want to say things that trivialized his willingness to sacrifice himself if need be.

He just couldn't figure out what to do next to make them leave it alone.

"Edward?" Dr. Gansworth tapped the Major's shoulder and motioned with his chin to let him know he could resume talking to Ed. It was evident that the young man was getting withdrawn. "You don't have to answer that now. Are you listening?"

A few more beats of silence, and Armstrong gently grasped Ed's upper arm.

"The doctor asked you a pretty simple question, lad. He just wants to know if you're listening."

Ed nodded reluctantly and rubbed his face.

"Let's step back; you wanted the Major to stay, and he agreed." Gansworth didn't think that had been the trigger for the small traumatic episode. He was aiming for the last point in time before the problem started.

Ed nodded again. They seemed to be heading away from that sore subject, and he wanted to encourage that.

"Do you still want him to stay?" Gansworth asked. It appeared that one of his first goals had already been met - he had singled out something that consistently had value to Ed, something he could use as a reward. The Major's presence was powerful leverage.

"I'm right here, if that's all right. But if you prefer that I leave…" Armstrong offered.

Ed's head finally came up at that, along with the automail hand to securely snag a fistful of blue coat again.

"I'd like you to tell us in words if you want him to stay. I just want to make sure that we're understanding you."

"Major," he said, hesitant and pleading. "Don't leave. Stay."

"It's all right, it wasn't that I needed to go."

"I see. It's fine, Edward," Gansworth said. "Especially if it helps you to feel a little more comfortable. Try to relax, we're just having a nice, informal chat here. Does it make you feel better when he's here?"

"Uh-huh. He makes people behave."

"Does he really?"

"Especially the Colonel."

"The Colonel doesn't always behave as he should?"

Ed's look turned guilty, and it took a few seconds before he replied. "I shouldn't say that. The Major says it's not true."

"Ah, but we're talking about feelings and perceptions right now, Edward. And your feelings exist, so telling me about them is not wrong, regardless of whether you have your facts straight. I won't judge them as true or false. Even if you fear something that is non-existent, it is still true that you feel that fear. So please. I'm sure the Major would agree, it's important to hear how you feel about this."

Armstrong nodded encouragingly.

Ed cleared his throat and made a false start before finally taking a deep breath and making his reply.

"He hurts me when no one sees. He does! He can be mean. I always knew he was kind of like that. When Al and I…" Ed's throat tightened and he had to pause a moment from the impact of saying his brother's name. "when we'd go on assignment and come back, he was always rude and calling me names and chewing me out. Sometimes I was supposed to report in and I wouldn't, just so I didn't have to hear it."

"So…you dislike the Colonel?"

Ed frowned and tipped his head down abruptly, hiding his face.

"I told you he hurts me."

"Are you afraid of him?"

"He took me out and left me and hurt my shoulder, did he tell you that? That's how it happened. It was him. He did it."

"Really? So then, I can easily see how you might feel that you have reason to fear him. Do you?"

"He stopped me from bringing back Al. He twisted my arm. He makes fun of me. He stopped coming to see me."

The doctor nodded, waiting a few beats to make sure that Ed was finished.

"That's been hard on you, hasn't it? You're still not telling me how you feel about it, though. Try this for me. Take a moment and picture Colonel Mustang in your mind's eye, can you do that for me? Get a good look at him, use your imagination. Got him? Tell me when you can see him clearly."

After a few minutes with his eyes closed, Ed nodded, his face still hidden.

"So, what is he doing?"

"Sitting here in the chair. He used to come sit with me sometimes."

"Was that hard for you, having him so close?"

"No. He was being good then. He was helping me."

"Did you like having him there, then?"

Ed nodded.

"Are you afraid of him now, Ed? Be honest."

"Well…when I first see him, yeah…but I don't know… because it would be worse if he left. If I didn't see him again. That would be worse. But its hard to see him now because I know he wants to hurt me. I don't know what I did wrong to deserve it. I guess he really doesn't like me. Or something."

"That sounds painful."

"I guess it kind of hurts a little."

"You seem to care about his opinion of you."

"I can't help it. He's my superior."

"So he has great influence over you. But you aren't sure that he will use that influence to benefit you. Is that what I'm hearing?"

Ed shook his head. "Just stop talking about it. Leave it alone." He pulled harder on Armstrong, making him sit on the edge of the bed. The Major was the only company he wanted right now, and his patience with the constant prying was spent.

"Maybe we could do something about your situation."

"No! Don't be doing anything. I don't get this thing you're doing. No one did it before."

"Are you referring to our talk right now? You weren't well enough for this kind of help before."

"This is help?"

"It can be. It's meant to be helpful. You might not see it at first, because it takes time, and you have to get used to the idea of talking about difficult things before we can really make some headway. But if we stay with it, you'll find that out. We're just making a first scratch on the surface. The things that truly help usually run much deeper."

"If you say so." The tension had taken its toll. Ed had shifted again, and now he was half in the Major's lap, starting to rub an eye and looking wilted. "Can't you make him stop?"

Armstrong moved to support him more comfortably. "You can tell him yourself if you'd like to end the session."

"No more," Ed blurted wearily.

"That's fine. You did very well, Edward. I feel like you were being honest with me, and that's all I ask." Dr. Gansworth stood and held out a hand benignly. Ed touched it in a glancing near-handshake and turned away, burying his face in the Major's chest and covering his ears with both hands.

"Looks like we're done here," the doctor said. "I want you to give this some thought if you can, Edward. We'll be talking like this again. Think about what you might like to say next time, hm? Any subject you'd like to talk about. Anything you've got on your mind." He gave Ed a pat on the shoulder.

"You might want to repeat that for me when he's back in the mood to listen," Gansworth smiled at Armstrong, pausing in the doorway before heading out. "Thank you for staying, Major."

"Please, Doctor, don't hesitate to ask me again if there's any way that I can be of service. Just say the word."

He wrapped a large arm around Ed and settled in to wait patiently now that they were alone again.

Just when he was beginning to think that Ed had fallen asleep, a quiet voice mumbled into his chest.

"What will he do now?"

"I expect he'll come back and talk with you again. I'm not certain when. Surely, not today."

"No." Ed pulled back a little, to be more easily heard. "What will he do?"

"Do?"

"He won't go to the Colonel, will he? Or get him in trouble? Or make him not be my guardian anymore?"

"Nothing like that. He's a doctor, so he's bound by his oath to keep your confidence. Unless he felt that the Colonel was an unfit guardian, or was endangering you somehow, he won't do anything."

"But what I said! I shouldn't have said it. He might!"

"Calm down now. Your version of the incident that caused you injury is no secret - if it was cause to challenge guardianship, it would have been done already."

"But if he tells the Colonel what I said, he might think I'm too much trouble!"

"I doubt that he'll tell the Colonel anything that you said. Maybe you're misunderstanding what the doctor was trying to do. This is a form of therapy - like physical therapy, you remember some of that, don't you? Only this is for your psychological recovery."

That silenced Ed. Crazy, of course they still thought he was crazy, and he'd just attempted to trade his life for Al's. Doctors think they're the only ones allowed to choose between lives, he mused darkly. They tended to lock up anyone else that tried to make that determination. It wasn't fair, he was doing the best he could to make things right; did they have any idea how hard he was trying?

"Are they thinking about sending me away?" Ed asked tersely. "Back to wherever I was locked up?"

"No. It's just another way to help you."

"You'd tell me the truth, right?" Ed didn't like the twinge of distrust in he suddenly felt for Armstrong again. He had to believe in somebody, he couldn't be sure about Mustang, and Havoc didn't seem to want be around him very long anymore. If the Major turned out to be deceitful, there wouldn't be any straws left to grasp.

"Ed. It's for your benefit. I would not sit here and support the effort if it was not. I am telling you the truth."

The last of Ed's endurance gave out and he collapsed back; a strong supporting arm caught him securely.

Ed was still gazing at the closed door; he'd raised his arm to point at it unsteadily, repeating himself in a tired, dry plea, giving it the sound of a dying wish. "Don't do anything. Don't do anything!"

Armstrong had no difficulty understanding that the words weren't meant for him.

"He won't, Ed. Let me handle it, okay? Just try to relax and get some rest. You're still not well." He reached up and gently pushed Ed's arm down, rubbing it to relax the tight muscles.

Ed quieted at that, and let the larger man shift him back over on the bed to make him more comfortable. Exhausted from the strain, he retreated into fretful sleep.

xxxxxxx

Al crept behind Havoc uncertainly, looking in every doorway, even though the fact that the tall Second Lieutenant had passed those doors without stopping meant they had yet to reach his new quarters.

But he peered into them nervously anyway. They were all unoccupied so far; but his sixth sense was not so convinced. A dank wave of negative energy seemed to hover inside each opening.

"Ed's not here."

"I know."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Just looking." He wasn't sure himself why he felt compelled to do a visual search of every room as they passed, but the urge was irresistible. He did know that he wasn't searching for Ed, despite Havoc's assumption. The feeling was different; he was cautious, wary. They had turned down a dimly lit hallway lined with a half-dozen identical doors. It didn't look like there had been a lot of activity here recently.

"Down here. It's all right, Al. Just come on." Havoc worked one of the latches with a key, and Al balked at the doorway. There was a lock on the outside of the door , a narrow, horizontal hatch about the right size to pass a tray through, and a small observation window with a cross-hatch of bars and no glass.

It was clearly a prisoner's cell.

Al started to back away, and Havoc followed, letting go of the door and taking Al's arm.

"Don't lock me up! What did I do? You can't!" Al started to push away; the thought of being enclosed in such a place without a way out was unbearable.

"Al, wait. You won't be locked up. Hey, we'll even take the door off if you want. Okay?"

Al had already begun to breathe heavily, and he shook as he tried to compose himself again.

"These detention rooms are empty right now. They're the most logical place for you to stay; they're the closest thing to living quarters we have available in the secure part of this building. It makes sense, it's set up for sleeping and it'll be easy for us to keep you safe. And it's only for a little while. We're working on something better. You understand? We can't put you back in the old barracks, Al, not after what happened. You'll be much safer here."

Al's head began to clear of the blinding panic, and he caught his breath enough to speak.

"No lock. No lock!"

Havoc nodded and tentatively released his hold. When Al didn't try to flee, he stepped back in reach of the door.

"Of course. I'll disable the lock now. Look, see the bolt? If I drop the pin this way, it prevents it from engaging. We had too many guards accidentally lock themselves in before we switched to these. Embarrassing."

Al nervously gripped his elbows.

"The door can stay open if you're still worried, there's a catch on the wall to hold it. See here?" Havoc pushed the door all the way open and engaged the mechanism to demonstrate, never taking his eyes off Al.

Al rubbed his forehead furiously, trying to settle himself down, and struggling to decide if he should be cooperating or fighting this.

"If that's not good enough, I'll have someone remove the door. You just need to trust me a little longer, Al. Don't blow it when you're this close to seeing your brother again."

That statement hit home, and Al firmed his lower lip. "I'm trying."

"I'm sorry. We should have talked this over before we got here. I got held up with something else; I had planned to sit down and give you an idea of what's happening before we left the infirmary." But Havoc had been delayed again by Ed's attempts to make him stay. Well, another benefit to having the Elrics together - Havoc wouldn't keep being pulled in two directions at once anymore.

Sweat prickled the back of Al's neck as he stepped in. He put a hand on the door jamb to confirm that the door couldn't possibly close while he surveyed the room. It was very small and stark; it looked exactly like what it was.

By comparison, the barracks had been luxurious. It felt like being sent to jail, no matter what Havoc said. But a part of him felt resigned to it; he had been getting away with murder because he hadn't been punished yet for his abuses to Edward. This would count towards that, whether they intended it in that way or not. He would be a man and bear it for the sake of reuniting with Ed, and he would do it as a bit of voluntary penance as well. He had no real right to complain.

"Easy, Al. Go slow. It's all strange to you here; give yourself a chance to acclimate."

They had wedged a bedside table, a wooden chair, and a small, battered cabinet with doors into the compact space to give him a place to put his clothes. Havoc opened the cabinet and showed him the few items of clothing, and the book and clipboard he'd left at the barracks when they whisked him away after the rat attack. The handful of donated items seemed to be complete; indeed, it was every item he now had to his name in the world.

That sobering thought was pushed aside as he took his hand off Havoc and looked him in the eye instead.

"Thank you. I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"I should have warned you. Don't give it another thought. Now, let's go do something besides sit around for a little while, hm? There's an unofficial rec room down here, I'll show you the way. Nothing fancy, that's for sure, but there's stuff to do."

Al followed, curiosity piqued.

"Pay attention to the layout here; get familiar with where we're at."

They came to a set of double doors, and Havoc swung them open with a flourish.

"Here it is! This has evolved over time, guys just bringing stuff they find and whatever. They let us have a decent sized room, at least." It was a very large room; they weaved their way past the mismatched tables and chairs dotting the area. Al browsed the sizable stack of well-worn board game boxes cubbied on the near wall with a nod at the familiar titles. His gaze skipped over the old pinball machine and homemade skeeball alley to rest on the dartboard that hung across from the pool table in the far corner.

Al went straight for the darts. When he was little, it was something he enjoyed playing with Ed - it was one of the rare things they continued to play at all through Ed's rehabilitation into the automail, because even with one arm and in a wheelchair, Ed had a deadly eye and excellent aim. Al's accuracy had been reduced when he ended up in the armor; so it was something they were able to compete at honestly without holding back for the other's sake.

The memory made him smile. Ed would win most of the time playing lefty, preferring his natural arm even after getting the automail, but not always. It made for some of the few moments when they would set aside their surreal circumstances and just be brothers at play.

They probably wouldn't let Ed have anything as dangerous as a dart right now, though, and Al's smile disappeared. If they really knew how he was, they probably wouldn't let him handle darts either.

"You good at this?" Havoc asked, picking up the red set. "Because, if you're not, I will kick your ass. Dart-wise, that is."

"Oh-ho," Al snorted. "I haven't got a clue how I am at this now. But I used to be pretty darn good."

"So? You'll never know until you try. Bring it."

The first few games went to Havoc as Al's control was erratic; but he got better and better as the games progressed , and eventually gave the older man some serious competition. They moved on to play pool, and Havoc noted with satisfaction that Al seemed to be getting comfortable in the new surroundings, and with his company. It was a good thing that they had done this early in the day, giving them the whole place to themselves. It just made things less complicated.

Al was going to be deadly at pool once his muscles returned to full obedience. His powers of concentration were evident as he clearly calculated each shot in his head before choosing his position and angle. He hit perfect shots salted with wild misses, with little in between.

"Let's see what you can do with this."

Al looked up and managed to bat away the orange ball before it connected with his face.

"What the…"

"You were supposed to catch it. Look. Over there. " Havoc pointed as he plopped into a chair.

A basketball hoop had been affixed to one wall with an area cleared in front of it, although Al suspected that a missed ball had rudely interrupted a board game on more than one occasion.

Havoc watched while Al tried to work the basketball, noting that his balance and coordination were still a little erratic, that his basic muscle control wasn't always automatic either. He wore out quickly using his large muscle groups, and never really had any success at making a basket.

He sank into a chair near Havoc, wiping the sweat from his eyes. It was so strange and new, like he'd never done any of this before. His evil inner self was quiet for now. Doing things like this, things that normal people did, forced the wisps of dark and destructive presence into the far background. It was probably just waiting and watching for the right moment to emerge; he didn't get the sense that it had decided to leave him alone.

Havoc looked at him expectantly and waited.

"I guess I'm not all together yet," Al said grimly. "Sometimes it's like I forget how to move."

"You do pretty well with the finer muscle control."

"I have to really think about it, though. It's just that, it's a more concentrated area, so if something starts to work the wrong way, I can correct for it most of the time. With this, I'm trying to move around with my legs, used my head to look for the goal, and then used my hands and arms to control the ball…the impulses get all tangled up. I keep having to concentrate on not falling down. My legs are the worst."

"Is walking difficult?"

"I have to think about every step, but since it's repetitive, I kind of got used to it. It's like…if you had to go everywhere by walking a high wire. It takes a lot to do it; but if that's what you have to do to get around, that's what you do."

"Have you told the doctor about that?"

Al hesitated. He'd told the doctor a lot more than he should have. Yet he'd hidden his beastly urges, a sure indicator of guilt and wrongdoing. He looked up and met with the concern evident in Havoc's clear blue eyes. For the moment, he allowed his guard to drop and answered as honestly as he could,

"Well, sort of. He already thinks I'm crazy, what if he thinks this is just in my head? I…I guess I should admit to you…he knows a lot about what really happened to me. I know its supposed to be a secret…but he's a doctor, he's supposed to keep your secrets. And I don't think he believes me anyway, I think he just figures I'm nuts."

"Dr. Gansworth, right?"

Al nodded and wiped more sweat away, finally slowing his breathing to normal. The physical exertion had ended a little while ago, but its effect on his mental balance had not. He was still in good control of his thoughts. He didn't have any urge to escape, or feel the need to attack

"He's trustworthy, Al, that's the word I get. He's someone you should talk to. Especially if there's something you're uncomfortable talking to me about."

Al cricked his neck to one side. "Sore muscles are going to feel good for a change. It's been so long."

Havoc smiled. "Come on, let's get a change of clothes and I'll show you where you can shower up."

Al stood, slightly wobbly, a hand on the chair. Havoc took his arm then, and Al seemed to be fine with it.

"Can you at least give me an idea how long it will be?"

"Until you see Ed?" Al was already nodding before Havoc finished the sentence. "Not too much longer. Maybe a week from now, if everything goes well. Sound okay?"

"I've waited this long. I really do want to see him," Al said, the lack of conviction in his voice troubling even to himself. He couldn't help fretting over the possibilities.

"Well, yeah. Of course." Havoc though the statement odd; it sounded as if there had been some doubt in Al's mind about it. "I hope we didn't overdo it for your first day out. Can you walk all right?"

"I'll just need to go slow for a minute. Let's go."

Havoc's hold on his arm turned out to be needed support when they started out, heading back down the corridor for the detention cells.

xxxxxxx

"What do we know today? Any new reports?" Mustang paced restlessly back and forth in front of his seated subordinates, lips tight.

"Ingress and egress tight and right; all personnel passcodes verified and all non-military souls denied entrance. Deliveries are being taken at the main gate and no public vehicles were allowed in base. Perimeter guards report no activity, including confirmation that there were no unusual sightings of stray animals. It seems things are quiet for now, sir," Hawkeye concluded, flipping the papers back over on her clipboard.

"Word from the outpost is that things are quiet there as well; the Fuhrer's trip is nearly over; seems that he and Kimblee are finishing up their inspection at the Yellow Mesa depot. That was on their itinerary as the last stop. So if they are electing to come back by here, I would estimate they're out about two days travel." Fuery tapped his glasses higher on his nose and sat back down.

"Research on the intruder problem hasn't come up with much; but a suggestion was made that it might be useful to have a dog or two on duty to check out suspicious persons or articles, and help watch for animals. With thanks to the First Lieutenant for that," Falman nodded to Hawkeye, and she smiled briefly.

"Anything to get Hayate back in here, hm?" Mustang chided.

"He'd be good at it."

"Not a bad idea. I'd actually be interested to see what he thinks of Al's scent, considering where his body's been holed up until now. Bring him on in, Lieutenant. But as for a dog at the main gate, I don't think Hayate's our hound. Maybe one of the tracker's dogs. See what you can come up with there, Falman. Not a bad idea at all. Breda?"

"Personnel have been armed with upgraded weapons, and we've brought in a standing defense arsenal and secured it up in Charlie-Five. Grenade launcher, bazooka, flamethrower - with apologies to you sir, but you can't be everywhere at once. We laid in armor-piercing rounds and about twenty Tommy guns. If they want a stand-off here, they'd better have tanks. We're ready for anything."

"Good. Excellent. Major?"

"Pumping up the twenty-four hour watch on the boys. As you ordered, we've upgraded the assignment to a body watch, not a room watch. The boys are under full visual observation at all times."

"Perfect. Although, they might not take too kindly to it."

"Well, personal hygiene can be a touchy subject. We've compromised at leaving the door ajar. They both seem to be able to deal with that."

"Nicely done. Nothing from the patrols?"

"No, sir. All sweeps negative. They have seen the usual wildlife in the preserve. Not much to be done about that. We can't tackle and verify every coyote and hawk in the area."

"And re-checks of the target areas? Any signs of activity where we found Full- I mean, Ed, out in the preserve? Or where we unearthed Al?"

"Nothing. String-traps were undisturbed."

"Okay. This doesn't mean we can stand down from alert; quite the opposite. We need to be ready when they come back. And we know they will; their interest in Ed is still active; and they probably think they've gotten away without arousing suspicion. That's the only thing I don't like about stopping the deliveries at the gate; I think it may tip them off that we're aware. I'm debating whether to let that practice continue. For now, I'll let it stand. Just try to be as subtle as possible. Premise it on…let's say there's been a problem with theft on the base; that will be our explanation for the sudden passwording and the lockdown. Make that drug theft; that will further explain the extra security at the hospital and the main building, since we keep controlled substances in both." Mustang said, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"And once we have both of our 'controlled substances' living here under one roof?"

"It should make it easier to keep up the 24-hour watch. And it will make them a bigger target; so it may work to draw out the enemy, perhaps make them a bit careless. We'll see. For now, things seem to be in order. Carry on, all of you, and barring any unusual events, we'll meet again next week, same time, same place. Major, be sure to update Second Lieutenant Havoc when you see him next. He's here in the building getting Alphonse settled in a room in Delta wing."

"Delta wing, sir?"

"Just for the time being; we're using it for spare accommodations. Not what you're thinking."

"Of course! Very good, sir."

They stood and saluted, and Mustang returned it grimly. Hawkeye noted the darkening circles under her superior's eye and his disappearing sense of humor. When the others left the room, she approached him, unsure if he would be receptive to her concern.

"Problem, Lieutenant?"

"Just checking on you, sir. You seem very tired. There aren't any pressing matters this afternoon. Perhaps it would help to take a rest in your office?"

Mustang looked at her wryly. "But I still have requisitions. A stack this high."

"You'll sign them later. You'll be more efficient if you're rested. Now, you'd be drooling on them and nodding off every time you turn the page."

"I think you just talked me into it. What with…"

The door opened again, and a young soldier stuck his head in the door.

"Colonel Mustang, sir? You're wanted at the infirmary."

"Be right there." Mustang straightened his jacket and started for the door. "Cover my calls from your station, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," Hawkeye sighed, saluting his back before heading off to her desk to ride out the long afternoon.

xxxxxxxxx

"We can release on the following conditions," Dr. Gansworth said, presenting his carefully scribbled list to the Colonel.

Mustang stared for a moment, brows knitting. The doctor took the list back.

"All right, so my handwriting is a bit hard to read. Allow me. Conditions for release: one, Edward is to be supervised at all times until further notice. Further notice being a change in orders by his physician. Two - I will be the primary physician for both Edward and Alphonse, and I will attempt to assist them with their mental health issues as well. That means I need full access to them in your facility. Third, any significant physical or psychological events are to be reported to me as soon as possible, and anything severe warrants immediate notification. I want it treated as an emergency. Alert me regardless of whether I'm on duty or not. You'll have my personal contact information. This is vital if I'm to be at all effective in facilitating their recovery. Agreed?"

Mustang nodded, and started to speak, but Gansworth cut him off.

"Fourth…whatever is going on that has an impact on Edward, I need to know about it. It will be kept in total confidence. But this half-assed information you've tried to palm off on me in the past is not conducive to helping my patient. I realize that it's all on a 'need-to-know' basis; but unless there's a clear and compelling reason not to tell me, I want to decide for myself if I need to know. If it's not relevant, I can disregard it. But we can't risk having you leave out a detail that you think is not significant, and having me make incorrect assumptions and therefore take incorrect actions because of it. And that includes background information. Alphonse's condition is intimately tied with much of Edward's internal guilt; yet I had to get what little I know about the brother's true situation directly from that boy. I need to sit down with you and get the facts; about what happened to him, and anything else about them that you haven't revealed."

Mustang gazed at the man in deep thought, assessing his sincerity.

Gansworth folded the note and set it on the desk. He stared back expectantly. "Well?"

"You don't leave much to chance, do you?" he sighed. "All right, I agree. Those conditions are acceptable. When can we take Ed out of here?"

"Well, for one thing, you won't be taking him. Medical staff will deliver him, make any necessary changes to his living space to accommodate his current needs, and an orderly will be staying on for the first twenty-four hours. That can occur whenever you're ready to receive him at your end."

"We're ready now. Can he be moved this afternoon?"

"He could…but I'm going to suggest tomorrow morning. He's a bit more stable in the mornings, and this will be a big change for him to deal with. His nights are rough as it is; the more time he has to settle in before he goes to sleep at night, the easier this will probably be for him."

Mustang considered objecting, but ultimately, as anxious as he was to get Ed back close, he didn't want to make things harder for him. "Tomorrow then. Time?"

"Early is best, I think. Expect our little entourage around six-thirty. That way we won't be competing with shift changes or meal deliveries here. When is the shift change in your unit?"

"It varies. Most at six, seven-thirty for the rest of them. So six-thirty will work well."

"Then be ready for us, Colonel. Will you be there in person?"

"Yes, I plan on it."

"Mr. Elric hasn't quite absolved you of blame for his injuries. I'm not suggesting that you stay away, but it might be best if you keep a low profile at first, if I may make that recommendation."

"I'll make sure that we have someone he trusts at the ready. Major Armstrong, most likely." It was not a great feeling, knowing that he couldn't include himself on that list again quite yet.

"Armstrong. Perfect, I was just going to suggest that. Just give Edward some space for now. I'd like you to keep touching base with him though. Just brief, casual contacts, but fairly often if you can manage it."

"I think I can manage that, if you think it's best. You don't think that's too hard on him?"

"He's a brave soul. He's certain that you've hurt him…and yet…he's not willing to let go of the hope that you're not his enemy after all. He expresses as much concern about you leaving as he does about these unfortunate incidents."

Mustang nodded, a little surprised.

"Very well then. We'll give this a try. If the stress from moving him early causes a significant relapse, this might be a very brief stay. We'll be monitoring him closely."

"Of course. It's in his best interest. Thank you, doctor. If that's all..?"

"Do continue to look in on him, Colonel. He's been better today. He seems to find your Corporal Enfield fascinating. Doesn't mind having him sit next to him at all. I was a little concerned when the Major had other things to attend to, but it turned out well enough."

"Enfield." Mustang brought the soldier's face and statistics up in his mind's eye. Average looking, unremarkable military record, just one of the masses. Nothing fascinating that he could recall. "Well, as you suggest, I'll go check it out."

xxxxxxx

Mustang walked into the room, and it appeared to take a moment for the guard to spot him over his magazine and rise to attention.

Ed had been relaxed and listening quietly, half-asleep until the door began to open; he stiffened and the Corporal caught his sudden change in demeanor out of the corner of his eye and warily waited until the unannounced visitor was in plain sight. He took his hand off his sidearm and leapt up to salute when he saw who it was.

"At ease."

"Identification respectfully requested, sir." Enfield returned his hand to a position in easy reach of his weapon. Ed was turning sideways on the bed, struggling to sit up; the guard kept both men in sight, glad he'd lifted the bedrail into place to prevent any falls.

"Of course. " Mustang reached into his breast pocket and retrieved his identity card.

"Today's password, sir."

"Ligature."

"Number?"

"Oh-eight-seven."

"Thank you, sir." Enfield handed the identification badge back and let his coat fall over his weapon, satisfied.

"Sit back down, Corporal. As you were."

He sat as directed while Ed managed to get himself sitting upright, eyes exclusively on Mustang.

"Hello, Edward. Who's your new friend?"

Ed looked at Enfield hesitantly, caught off-guard by the Colonel's friendly approach. A quick glance revealed that the older man was smiling slightly and keeping his distance.

"Al."

Mustang's brows furrowed. Was Ed confused again?

"Al-bert," corrected Enfield with a smile.

"Albert." Ed repeated. "Al for short."

"If you insist. But everyone in my family calls me Albert."

"Al." Ed said stubbornly. "I like it better."

"Other than your disagreement over names, how are things going?" Mustang asked.

Enfield waited, expecting that the question was directed to Ed. But when Ed didn't answer, he took up the task.

"I'm reading to him a bit. He seems to be doing pretty well."

"Articles," Ed chimed in.

"Scientific Monthly," the Corporal added, angling the cover up for the Colonel to see.

Ah. Now the fascination factor was getting a bit clearer. Ed found a fellow science geek in Enfield.

"Those are your magazines?" Mustang asked.

"Yes, sir, I brought them in. I thought that being an alchemist and all, this might be of interest."

"Good thinking. Ed, we're not far from getting you released. I just wanted to come by and make sure you're still getting better."

"I am." Ed said sheepishly. He wondered if his big mouth had caused any trouble. But if it had, the Colonel didn't seem to have come here to bring it up.

"Looking forward to coming back?"

Ed nodded, getting a little nervous at the concept of changing surroundings again.

"You'll be transported by the medical staff, but we'll make sure that you still have someone you know with you. We can have Corporal Enfield come for a bit afterward, if you'd like. You seem to enjoy his company."

Ed was twisting at the sheets and starting to gnaw on his lower lip, the nervous habits re-emerging.

Enfield gave his hand a pat to get his attention, watching him faithfully. "Hey now, doesn't that hurt? Doc says you can't be doing that anymore."

Ed's hand came up and took the place of his lip for chewing.

"That's better, but don't bite too hard."

"I should let you get back to your reading," the Colonel said, inching back to the door. Enfield seemed competent and alert; he was satisfied that Ed was being guarded properly.

"It really holds his interest," Enfield said pointedly. Mustang took in the implication - that once he left, Enfield would start reading again, and Ed would likely be distracted and calm down.

"I see. Carry on."

Ed watched Mustang leave, stranded with mixed feelings in his wake. He always felt kind of rejected or something when Mustang left his sight. It was a twinge of that terrible feeling he had often in his dreams, when he relived the very last moments he'd seen his father. The man had given him an unreadable, unemotional stare for a few frozen moments before going out the door without a word, never to return. That stare had lanced his young heart with the realization that he was being left for good - without warning, without reason, without any apparent hesitation or regret on his father's part.

The stare had communicated everything somehow. It was worse than a look of hatred, colder and more damning, something a young child should ever have to see directed at him from anyone. And it had come from his own father; with that one look, the man had taken a hatchet to the bond between them .

The tears in his mother's eyes had confirmed it, although he was too stunned to ask as she smile bravely and pretended it was all right, shooing him off to play before bed when she finally noticed him standing there. He had gone to sit silently in the bedroom and stare at his feet, trying hard to convince himself that he was imagining things.

That was the naked moment with the full effect. The ability to react with anger wasn't recovered until the next day, when Al innocently asked where Dad was and when he would be coming home. The tears that his mother fought back as she playfully distracted Al from his question watered the seeds of rage in Ed's heart, furious that his father would hurt their mother so badly. Even as he hoped he was wrong, that his father would return - the coldness he'd seen in his father's soul for the first time with that awful stare told him otherwise. He knew the man was gone for good.

It wasn't that the Colonel had ever looked at him that way. It was kind of the opposite. He felt a warmth that seeped through the steely, officious façade the man tried to present. It was more of a fear of seeing that look turn cold now that he'd come to feel a connection with him. To be cut off so brutally again - in his present condition, he wasn't sure that his heart could bear it. It had been very close, out there in the preserve, when the cruel words were hitting home. The Colonel didn't make any sense anymore, and it was a bad idea to rely on him. But every time they crossed paths, the need for his attention welled up anyway.

"Hey, Ed, how 'bout this? " Enfield said softly, saddened at the look he saw on Ed's face, wanting to distract him from whatever thoughts that gave him such an expression of pain. "Scientific evidence suggests that small animals communicate in complex languages."

Ed glanced up, attention caught for a second. Enfield plowed forward, reading the article with lively emphasis, and soon he had re-captured most of Ed's erratic attention as the words painted a picture of rats telling one another stories from generations before, carrying forward knowledge and traditions beyond explanation by their genetics and their immediate cage-mate's experience.

Enfield thought it was quite a stretch and just barely scientific enough as a theory to be included in a magazine so titled; but they threw some pretty far-fetched stuff in between the highly technical articles, he presumed to increase casual readership, and it distracted Ed, so he gladly relayed every word as if it were gospel.

Anything that seemed to pull him away from stewing, from that very sad, depressed outlook, was desirable. Albert had never been assigned to a confidential suicide watch before, although he had been in charge of health and safety monitoring of some at-risk prisoners before. It was a lot different when it was your own man and not the enemy. The stakes were higher.

He had come to realize that Ed calmed and appeared to be listening when he read, but that he had no idea what Ed did with what he heard. He didn't seem to be able to repeat or have a discussion about any of it; he did sometimes obsess over an unfamiliar word, but never related it further to the article. Mostly, he seemed to fall into a pattern of listening, as if it gave him some mental structure to cling to, and his goal was to be settled and calm. It was a disappointment after the initial excitement of finding that Ed was interested in listening…he envisioned eye-opening exchanges with the young genius, and perhaps a sort of heroic feeling at drawing him out of his deep depression and illness. Not a very realistic flight of fantasy, and reality had shown him just how wrong he was in fairly short order. Still, he was pleased that he was acing his job as given, and impressing the higher-ups.

Ed only interrupted him once this time…to ask if the Colonel had left. It was an odd question, since they'd both watched him leave a few minutes before. Enfield supposed Ed was checking for some emotional reason. He assured him that the Colonel was very busy and that he would be back again as soon as he could manage it. When silence was the only reaction, he waited a few moments, then continued reading.

Mustang listened outside the door for a bit before moving on. They had lucked out with this guard; and a good thing, too because Hobson had been relieved of this duty and was sanitizing dumpsters instead for the next week in order to adjust his attitude. He would not be watching Edward again.

The stretch only had to be made for a few more days; then only half the personnel would be needed for the watch, with any luck at all.

It was that luck factor that Mustang worried about the most. He needed to seek out Havoc and let him know when Ed was coming, to avoid an accidental, premature reunion. The Major would need to come in first thing tomorrow as well.

xxxx

Outside the main building, high in the trees, a frustrated crow scolded the windows of the hallway, bored and irritable with the unchanging view. The blue uniformed figures flowed in and out of the buildings like errant ants, but few of the ones he saw were of interest.

When the dark-haired Colonel passed below he grew silent, cocking his head to focus a yellow-ringed eye on the serious expression and tense posture. Sometimes the man moved with a fluid, easy grace; but this was the image of a person under significant stress. His hurried, heavy pace and dark-ringed eyes spoke volumes.

These observations were slightly more interesting than looking at nothing but infinitely more frustrating since the man was alone. He abruptly decided that someone else needed to take the watch if it was going to be this damned tedious. In a flurry of dull black feathers, he belligerently abandoned his post .

_tbc_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

_Well...the delay was inexcusable...I apologize. I truly appreciate your patience as I try to resume the flow of the story._

The return to the headquarters building was difficult, and the I.V. took on far too much importance for Ed. He didn't like it being there, it didn't belong, he was supposed to be free of it outside of the hospital. He glared at it, tugged at the tubes, pointed to it and made grumpy noises to anyone in range. Determined and disgruntled, there were many attempts to shove away the rolling pole, and he succeeding in dumping it completely over twice.

Efforts to distract him were useless. He obsessed stubbornly, nearly to the exclusion of all else.

The Major eventually conceded the battle. It became clear that there was little else to do but wait out the situation. Over and over he patiently calmed his uncooperative charge, caught the falling pole, and stopped the boy's hands when he picked too hard at the tubes.

"You have to have it, Edward. They wouldn't release you without it. You need that medicine, just for a few more days. But if you prefer, we can return you to the infirmary until you no longer need it. Is that what you want?" He'd run out of angles when it came to drawing Ed out of his mood. There was a disconnect between them. There didn't seem to be any particular desire on his charge's part to have anything to do with him.

Ed folded his arms and slammed them against his chest in a sullen huff. A frown was his only answer.

He was reaching up, about to take a swipe at the I.V. pole again when the Colonel's voice shocked him into freezing mid-reach.

"I have heard," the soft baritone projected clearly, "that you are not happy to be home."

Ed's hands flew back to his chest as he ducked his head down, startled when the familiar voice knifed through his aggravated haze. He stared at the covers blindly and froze, listening but not looking up. The tread of the military footwear was unmistakable, his ears now detecting the room noises with uncomfortable clarity. Too soon, Mustang was right there, at arm's length. He couldn't begin to sort out how to react to his unpredictable presence, suddenly so close by.

"Well? What is it, Ed?"

Ed kept his head down, the infuriating I.V. forgotten instantly. A stab of lucid thought suddenly pierced through the disorganization of his hastily bunkered mind. Was there something he remembered, something about Alphonse coming here with the Colonel? He wasn't quite able to bring himself to look up and see yet. He had heard the footfalls of hard-soled boots, and only those of one man - no hollow, metallic tread of armored feet. He bit down hard on his lower lip, chewing fiercely and wishing time would slow down and give him a chance to adjust. It felt like something was about to happen and he just wasn't able to pull his thoughts together to get ready for it.

"Edward," the Major interjected, voice evenly modulated to project calm and quiet. He winced to hear the crunch of teeth into fleshy lip. "Please stop biting yourself."

Mustang didn't hesitate; he dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed and took Ed's chin with a firm hand, turning him so they were in each other's line of sight.

Ed tried to pull away, but the Colonel held fast.

"Stop that, Ed, or I won't let go."

Ed's eyes flicked around to take in the room now that his field of vision was forced up; Al wasn't anywhere to be seen. He refocused on the dark, exotic eyes of the Colonel, searching them for his purpose in being so terribly close.

"Stop," Mustang said evenly as he released Ed's chin and put a finger against his upper lip in a feather-light touch instead. "Don't hurt yourself like that. Relax your jaw. Let go."

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen more of the whites of Ed's eyes; it was that wall-eyed, breathless look that made him decide to soften his approach.

Ed's shoulders hunched up with the effort of forcing himself to comply. He tried gnawing at the inside of his mouth instead while he cautiously lifted his automail arm to block the Colonel from touching his face. The taste of blood made him shiver; in a nervous, darting motion he crammed his fist into his mouth to bite down on it instead.

Mustang chose to back off, rewarding Ed for his cooperation by moving away from the bed a few feet.

He used the time during that pregnant pause to take in the scene as a whole. Ed was an irritable bundle of nerves, twitchy and wound up tight; communication and cooperation were not coming easily. The only apparent cause seemed to be the disruption of moving back into his quarters. It was true that the room had been rearranged by the medical staffers to accommodate the needed equipment, but it was nothing drastic, so slight that it might not be noticed at first glance.

From the frustrated look that Armstrong was wearing, the situation was more difficult to manage than he had been expecting; if he, of all people, hadn't been able to make any headway, this was shaping up to be a very long day.

The sound of someone in the hallway grew close enough to divert their attention, sending Armstrong to the doorway to verify I.D.

It was the medical aide that had been assigned to take care of Ed for his first day back; the Major quietly cleared him for re-entry. His first steps were tentative, making yet another attempt to successfully return to his post in the small room.

Ed went up and nearly off the bed in reaction, almost eluding interception by the Major. The giant alchemist was making him do things he didn't want to, the Colonel was a whirlwind of confusing possibilities…but the aide was much more disturbing: he was a stranger. Having him anywhere close went far past Ed's thinly stretched tolerance. The automail shoved ineffectively at the beefy arm barring his escape; he gave up just as abruptly and drew back to freeze, using Armstrong's body as a shield instead.

The white-clad man hadn't been able to do much at all for Ed, forced to stay across the room, for the most part. But there were things he had put off in hopes that the paranoia would subside soon, things that could no longer wait for voluntary cooperation.

The aide had taken the initiative to duck out and make a call to the doctor, securing permission to pick up an additional medication. He approached slowly with it now, taking advantage the Major's position between them as a visual barrier, and made it to the I.V. tree. Ed's view was blocked as he took a miniature version of the bags already there, strung it up, and plugged it in to let the chemicals infuse with the rest of the liquid already trickling into his veins. He adjusted the flow and moved back across the room to wait, watching. The Colonel nodded to him in understanding and left the room entirely to give Ed more breathing space.

The telltale invasion of unnatural heat in his veins gave just a few pathetic seconds of warning before the drug began its swift takeover. Ed hated the helpless feeling when they first administered sedation, and gripped Armstrong instinctively for protection. The artificial relaxation and calm was an enormous threat to his well-being; the brief fight before it took over and sent his defenses packing always felt like it could be the end, the last chance to struggle before he was laid bare to his enemies without the sense to be sufficiently wary.

It didn't change the feeling that, even though they had placed him in it physically, the room he'd longed to return to was still refusing to let him all the way in. He was here, but he didn't feel here. It didn't feel right at all. It was the fault of the tube snaking into his arm, invading his body. The I.V. was interfering, ruining everything, tethering him exposed to anyone who might approach, trapping him just short of the secure space that he needed to settle in. He wanted the damned thing to go away, wishing that he had made a greater effort to pull it out earlier despite Armstrong's interference.

The softening warmth flowed further into his veins and his body relaxed despite his anxious reaction, with his mind not far behind. There wasn't much energy left to resist the slow wilt of his spine and the gravity that tugged his arm until it defeated his grip. The Major intervened when he finally lost his hold and tipped forward unsteadily, easing him back onto his bed as the world began a slow downward drift.

Once the medical aide saw that he was fully subdued, he approached without hesitation to take Ed's vitals and carefully shift him off the pillow so he could change the case; a few smears of blood from his lip had soiled the dull white cotton. That wound received a cleaning and a smear of ointment when it didn't appear to need stitching. A change of dressing on his surgery site came last, the used bandage going into a sealed bag for testing. Satisfied that things were under control, he tucked the samples into his pocket and re-checked the medications before rearranging Ed and leaving to make his delivery to the lab.

The Major glumly took up an attempt to move Ed through some small-motor segments of his daily workout while he was still awake. It was a long shot, hoping to provide some distraction and at least move him through as much of the bare minimum as possible to keep his automail problems from worsening. Propped upright, the young man gave little in the way of objection, but cooperation of any meaningful type had been diluted down to almost nothing as well. Ed couldn't maintain resistance or exert pressure with enough control, and stretching was tricky, with an increased risk of injury.

As fiercely as he was trying to fight it, Ed kept zoning out nonetheless. His head refused to stay upright, sagging over sideways as he watched the Major for long stretches without blinking, staring as his eyes watered blearily. Still, he managed to shake his head every time when asked if he'd rather lie down.

"How's it going now?" Mustang asked from the doorway, flashing his I.D. automatically.

"He's fully tranquillized," Armstrong said. "Aren't you, Edward?"

Ed struggled to bring the Major into focus, but his slack jaw made no effort to reply.

Armstrong glanced back when the Colonel didn't move. "I expect you could come back in now, sir."

Mustang hesitated for a moment. Things _did_ seem to be under control; he stepped inside experimentally.

"Was he really getting that difficult to handle?"

"Not for me, but the aide couldn't get near him. It's been an extraordinarily difficult transition."

"How long are they planning on keeping him like this?"

"I don't know. I know that he's overdue for blood draws and a sponge bath. The aide was going to be taking care of those things sometime soon. I'm not pleased with the idea of sedation, but nothing short of manhandling would make him cooperate otherwise. I truly tried to avoid this, sir. Tried everything I could think of."

"Well, he won't like either one of those activities; I can see the benefit there. Beyond that… I'll talk with them. Try not to feel too badly, Major. As far as anyone can tell, you're his primary support right now. If you couldn't get through to him, it just wasn't possible." The Colonel returned Ed's watery stare with a mild expression and a forced smile. "Sorry, Ed, I don't mean to discuss you like you're not here."

Ed's gaze wavered but never fell.

It was disorienting to look the Colonel in his bottomless, dark eyes. They seemed to offer caring and protection and warmth, things he needed so very badly it ached. He had gotten too attached to the man in spite of himself, an emotional attachment, and it was so hard to stop. The apologies and kind words and deeds seemed so sincere, he had to keep reminding himself that it might only be because of the witnesses in the room. Softened by the sedative and reinforced with the Major's presence, his guard dropped enough to accept the Colonel's attempt to get closer.

"Mind if I sit by you?"

Ed shook his head unsteadily and Mustang perched tentatively on the edge of the bed.

"Thanks, Ed. I don't know if you realize how important it is to me that I have your trust. I may make mistakes sometimes, but I wouldn't do anything on purpose that would hurt you." He reached out and gave Ed's arm a gentle pat.

Ed's face deepened into a frown. Resisting the urge to throw caution aside and embrace the Colonel's attention was increasingly difficult now that his guard was down.

"Edward, are you all right?" Armstrong asked.

Ed shook his head slowly, and the Colonel shifted back, leaning away.

"No? Is it me? I don't want to upset you. Do I need to move?"

The automail hand grabbed his arm, and Ed's head shook again, this time in a vehement negative. He made himself dizzy and unstable in the process.

Armstrong raised an eyebrow. Ed was accepting the Colonel again? Of course, it was good news, if it was true. But he had developed the distinct impression that Ed was not frantic over being forced to wait for the reunion with his brother because he didn't believe it was possible; that Mustang was not telling him the truth. Yet now, here he was reaching out for that man, the same man suspected of playing unfairly with his deepest regrets and desires. It made Edward appear even more confused and adrift again. Perhaps it was just the influence of the drug. They had given him quite a substantial amount; more than enough to render him unconscious if he wasn't fighting its influence.

"I'll take that as a no. That's good; I'd like to sit here next to you for a little while, if it agrees with you."

Ed nodded, swallowing hard. He held on, but when the Colonel raised his hand and reached towards him, he flinched and pulled back.

Mustang waited instead of withdrawing his hand. Instead, he held still for a few moments, and slowly moved forward again, until his hand rested lightly on Ed's forehead.

"You know that we brought you back here early because we wanted to have you close to us, don't you? A lot of people here care about you. They miss you when you're gone. They would be very sad if something happened to you."

He felt that a little coddling couldn't hurt, in light of Ed's near-suicide. The attempt at self-transmutation had a positive aspect in its goal, but the willingness to throw his life away in the process was a red flag, just as the doctor had pointed out. Ed was going to require constant, protective oversight for a very long time; they'd just have to step up and deal with it, and find a way to absorb the man-hours so that the higher-ups would be none the wiser.

For so many reasons, Mustang needed to make headway in getting Ed's trust back at every opportunity. Those opportunities would likely be few and far between in the near future.

"You don't seem to be too warm. That's good, hm?"

Ed looked away, turning his head enough that it took them out of contact.

"You want me to keep some distance, so that I don't get too close. Is that it?"

Want? That wasn't it. Ed wanted things to be stable, he wanted the Colonel to be someone he could rely on, he wanted his feelings to be settled and he longed for that warmth and security he'd had a taste of when the he thought the man could be trusted. That was the want.

He couldn't reconcile the reaction in his gut, the one that warned him to remember the abuses, and how those dark eyes had mocked him, how that deep, mesmerizing voice had called him names and frightened him. How easy it seemed to be for everyone he had ever counted on to suddenly disappear.

Mustang wasn't doing those awful things now; he was being kind and offering just the sort of support Ed ached for right now. Ed waffled, wincing, trying to sort it out while fighting the seductive call of the medication; the pull of sleepy oblivion grew stronger. He reached unsteadily for the blue coat again.

"Or is this all right, as long as I go slowly?"

That was a reassuring question; it was tolerable, the way he was offering to do things. Ed forced his leaden muscles to angle his head up enough to see, and their eyes met for a second before he looked away.

" 's all right," he said in a soft breath.

Mustang was startled, almost questioning whether he'd actually heard it. Getting a positive response this soon was almost unbelievable.

"That's good to hear. I want to spend a little time with you, it's been too long. I've gotten used to being able to see you, and I've missed it."

Ed's grip tightened a little as he swayed. Mustang wished he could just pull him close, try to lend him a little comfort, but he didn't want to push it too fast.

"…missed it," Ed repeated reluctantly, the great effort to force speech resulting in a weary voice almost too quiet to hear.

"You don't need to miss me, you know. If you want to see me, you just ask."

Ed's nod seemed to be an enormous effort.

"You don't have to sit up, Ed. Let's settle you back."

"I don't wanna go to sleep. Why'd they…why'd they give me that sleepy stuff again…I don't like it…" he muttered as the Colonel helped him slide down in the bed.

"You know how they are. They want you to relax and be comfortable, because you still have some healing to do. You're still not quite well."

Ed's automail pinched unsteadily at the IV once he was prone again, and Mustang pushed the metal hand away.

"Taking that out will make it take longer to get well. Don't mess with it."

"Don't want it."

"I know. But it won't be there for that much longer if you'll leave it alone."

The weary body managed to squirm up enough to look past the Colonel's shoulder.

"The Major's still here, Ed. You need to see? He's right over there."

Ed sighed and shifted further, catching the Major's profile near the doorway. The sight took the last of the tension out his muscles. There he was, and that might be the reason the Colonel was being so nice now. It was hard to think very clearly, and his brain was fogging up even more now that he had stopped moving. By the time the aide returned, the reality of it didn't fully process for several minutes.

The aide was preparing a tray, laying out syringes, and when that image fazed into his awareness, it made Ed's respiratory rate climb. The man needed room to do his work, and Mustang had to gently pry Ed's hands away as he explained as soothingly as he could what was happening next.

Armstrong stepped up to assist the aide, and Ed's newly freed hand clutched clumsily at him instead.

With Edward refocused on his preferred caretaker and the impending procedure, it seemed that it wasn't fair to have him worrying about anyone else's presence at the moment. Mustang turned the reins back over to the Major with a nod and retreated to the gentleman's room to splash water on his face, trying to concentrate on looking less bedraggled and tired. He couldn't afford to let this thing interfere with his other duties too much, there were long-term goals that needed to be advanced if his plans were to stay on track. Personal and individual needs were important; but his bigger plans were just as much, if not more vital. In his impossibly full plate of conflicting responsibilities and regrets, he could not allow himself the luxury of letting his emotions influence his priorities as well.

Until it was time to oversee the tactically significant reunion of the two boys, he needed to concentrate more of his attention on handling official business, and following up on his own agendas.

He patted the inside pocket of his coat and retrieved the item that he kept there. A check of the well-worn container revealed that it only held the stomach pills; he'd forgotten to refill it with the painkillers for his head again. It was always the same, like falling downhill, if he didn't have the pills on him during the rare moment of downtime when he went to take them, it might be days before he would take the time to do so again. And the odds were against him that he would remember to refill the damned container anytime soon. The bottle sat in his medicine chest at home. The few seconds he spent taking care of business there rarely found him with a free thought for what he was actually doing. Self-care was all on autopilot lately.

In the meanwhile, he'd come to terms with the constant pain as it waxed and waned with the day's events. In the grand scheme of things, the most efficient way of dealing with it was to accept and ignore it.

The face in the mirror chastised him with its haggard appearance. He firmed his jaw, tightened his posture and raised his expression into a level glare. There. He was presentable again, wearing his soldier's face, the mask that met the expectations of his station in life.

The military boots tapped a strong, even rhythm as he passed quickly through the hallway, already immersed in the tasks waiting on his desk.

xxxx

Envy was frustrated. Patience was so not his virtue, and what little he possessed had been sorely tested since he had arrived here on this new assignment; it was going nowhere fast.

According to the word they had just received, the younger Elric might not be of use as a valuable sacrifice after all. His status had been elevated since his unexpected return to the land of the living; he was considered to be the most valuable of them all, due to his complete destruction, and ensuing resurrection, through the Gate. But this new information came as a shock; it appeared that they had celebrated their good fortune prematurely. Restored to the flesh, the boy had lost his alchemic ability.

Or at least, that was the official story presented to their inside man during his visit.

It was his job to test that claim. It should have been a piece of cake. But the miserable humans, those annoying bastards Mustang and Havoc in particular, seemed to have the formerly-metal moron and his loopy bro locked in tight. Base security was ridiculously high.

He had watched the windows, shifted shape, attempted the front entrance - and was finally reduced to observing and listening in on the conversations of those entering and leaving the building, relying on his bird form for camouflage. Al was now being warehoused in the same, much more secure, main building where Edward lived. From what he'd seen, they weren't really together yet. Only Edward was visible through the windows. He hadn't gotten a lock on his new target, Alphonse, in several hours.

Something had to be done. He could launch a full-on attack and find the boy, take him away - but they weren't close enough to the final stages of their plan to be starting that sort of battle. And it would pointlessly expose their activity. Much the same as his little walk in the woods with Fullmetal, he just needed to check Alphonse out, to get this information, and for the most part, beyond that - things needed to stay as they were.

Perhaps his allies would have to be called into play. There could be some adjustments that would make this possible, in particular adjustments to the frustrating personnel making his job so difficult.

It was time to confer with the others and see if they might be of help.

He certainly wasn't about to waste any more time watching them babysit Fullmetal today, although he found the brief, spaced-out resistance to the bloodletting and ensuing unwelcome sponge bath to be highly entertaining. The gap between the top of the screen and the doorframe allowed him to see it all from his spot in the topmost branches.

He sincerely hoped they never put that door back on; without the sideshow, he would have died of sheer boredom.

Xxxxx

"Ed. Hey. You all right?" Havoc frowned and shared a look with the Major before gently jiggling the slight figure propped up on the bed. The sedation had been tapered off during the early morning hours, and he should have been free of its influence by now; but his usual reaction to seeing Second Lieutenant never came.

The hand on his shoulder only prompted Ed to make a slow shift in position and a long, labored sigh.

"I'm not hungry."

The two men shared another look. Havoc paused. He knew better than to argue when Ed was so direct in his refusal. Better to change the subject for now and come back to this later. He put the food tray on the counter and approached again empty-handed.

"Okay. Is that all? Is something else bothering you?"

Ed was hard pressed to gather the energy to respond. "You can go if you want."

"Well, yeah…I know. But I'd rather not. I just got here, Boss."

The Major shrugged wearily. Other than a short break, he had been watching over Ed for the last twenty-four hours, not one of which had gone particularly well. Some stretches had been downright awful.

"I'm relieving you, Major. Colonel's orders. Go get some rest after you check out," Havoc said. They both knew that the term 'check out' meant that he was expected to report directly to Mustang's office to give him an update.

"Relieving," Ed muttered. They were relieved when they left him. Relieved of duty, responsibility, and worry. He was a burden to them. An unwanted weight, something that had to be passed from person to person.

"What was that? Ed?"

Ed wagged his head in a slow negative, without looking up.

"He's quite fatigued," Armstrong said solemnly. "He didn't rest well last night."

"Ah. Well, I'll be quiet as a mouse, I promise. I can just hang out here while you catch up on your z's," Havoc said with cheerfulness that he hoped sounded sincere. "There's nothing on your agenda this morning. Doc won't be by until noon or after."

"Doc?" Ed moved restlessly without actually making a change in his position. "The doctor? Again?"

"And you'd better get going, Major." The tall blond gave the mighty alchemist an encouraging wave toward the door. It was good that the Major was taking such good care of Ed, but he needed to take a break whether he wanted to admit it or not. They needed to keep on top of things and be alert at all times. It was too easy to let the boys' issues interfere with their concentration on security.

"Thank you, Second Lieutenant. Edward, I leave you in capable hands. Noon, you say?"

"One's early enough. But try calling in first to check on the schedule. He said you might be able to take some more time."

"It's fine. I'll be back at twelve regardless. I know you've been…" the Major caught himself before referring to Havoc's equally long hours. In the middle of changing guard, and with Ed listening in, launching into the subject of Alphonse's care would be counter-productive "…pretty busy."

Havoc shrugged and nodded. He wasn't having any problem with exhaustion; nothing like the Major's marathon of day and night issues. Al had been prescribed sleeping pills to deal with his bedtime claustrophobia, and Havoc was getting plenty of rest even though he was on round-the-clock watch. After Al fell asleep, Havoc secured the cell from the inside and slept right alongside him. It wasn't carelessness. The career soldier was a light sleeper, a survival instinct formed in the trenches and foxholes long ago, and the slightest movement or sound brought him into immediate alert anyway. It was working well, so far.

Ed was looking them both over now. His true aim in paying attention to them was to see if either of them had a pen in their pocket, something he could obtain somehow that could be used to re-create the symbols on his body. His search was fruitless. He glumly rolled face down, the position tangling the I.V. lines awkwardly; he made an unhappy moan into his pillow but stayed put.

The two men stepped into the hallway, keeping Ed in sight.

"Nightmares, all night. He starts dreaming almost before he's completely asleep. He truly got no rest at all."

"That's messed up. I thought you had to be asleep a while before you start dreaming."

"Yes, I thought so, too. So please, if Edward doesn't express it to his physician, be sure to let him know in case I'm not back by the time their session starts. I'll try to be here for it, depending on my orders. Ed prefers someone stay with him, just so you're aware. Don't just leave him when Dr. Gansworth arrives."

"Doc ain't gonna be too pleased with Ed's eating habits right now. We didn't have much luck yesterday. I don't know if it would be a good thing or a bad thing to go ahead and put in that tube." Havoc's attention turned to the approaching orderly.

"Sir."

"Identification," Havoc ordered, blocking his way.

"Yes, sir."

The blond examined the badge and nodded. "And?"

"Kilo Ocean Kilo Victor."

"You pass. What's up?"

"Just checking the patient's status. Dr. Gansworth's orders."

"Hold up so we go in together. Major, is that everything?"

"For now. Good luck."

Armstrong reluctantly made his way down the hall, away from the subject of his concern. It was time to give the Colonel a rather disappointing update. It _was_ a little early to expect improvement, though. They had been ready for the usual rough transition period bringing him back into their care. The pitch was somehow more intense now. Ed kept advancing, in uneven steps, and the more he became self-aware, the more difficult it was to comfort and control him. He was moving toward reality, which was the goal. Reality and sanity. But given the horrors of his reality, the quality of his sanity and emotional well-being were not sure things. The final impact on his personality and his "Ed-ness" loomed as a very real threat. It was still very possible that it would result in the loss of the person they had worked so hard to retrieve.

Armstrong knew that this was where, in large, the theory of Al's importance came in. If anyone could provide a positive thread, it would be that boy. After all that had come to pass, his precious little brother had been saved and restored. They could be together again, nearly as they planned. It might help Ed in coping with the return of all those awful memories. It seemed that it should help to know that he had gone through it all for a noble cause, and that in the end, for all of the unforgivable evil launched against them, the boys had triumphed.

Shoulders that normally stood straight and strong sagged as if weighted down by those thoughts, slowing the pace of his trip down the empty hallway. It was hard to deliver this sort of report to the Colonel; through their long association, the Major knew that he would once again witness the spark of pain and self-recrimination in the dark eyes. No doubt Mustang thought that he did a pretty good job of hiding it; and he actually did. If Armstrong blinked at the right moment he would likely miss it; but catch it or not, it would definitely be there.

His expression revealed nothing but polite charm when he arrived at Lieutenant Hawkeye's desk. Her equally guarded look told him that things were intense in the front office already, despite the early hour.

She rose to announce his arrival and get another look at the Colonel, seated at his desk grimly preparing orders in triplicate.

The assignment he was swiftly crafting called for a team to retrieve bodies for autopsy. The casualties were the result of a pre-dawn anti-military skirmish just reported in from one of the provinces. Unofficial word had been received that the clash never had a chance to escalate beyond verbal confrontation; both military men and rebel insurgents had been taken out mid-conflict by something else, a greater force with unnatural powers. Rumors generally took time to develop into tall tales such as this; getting this story within minutes of the event suggested that it was worth pursuing. Mustang wanted those bodies for examination, knowing full well that anyone going in to bring them back might be in equal danger.

It couldn't be helped; the information gleaned from the autopsies could be invaluable in analyzing their enemy's methods. The risk of staying in the area long enough to perform the procedures was too great; it was a better bet to go in just long enough to gather up the dead and get out. He was sending Major Messerschmitt along to act as ranking State Alchemist for the team. After reviewing the unique talents of the handful of men ready at his disposal, this was the best choice. Information on the incident was too sketchy to gamble on a close or long-range alchemic type; the man for the job had to be capable in both situations. The Dispensary Alchemist specialized in turning simple raw material in to complex drugs, gases and chemicals; he dispensed a limitless pharmacy with the molecules at his fingertips. His signature assault in close combat involved placing his bare hands on his opponent's face and transforming the saliva in their mouths into the drug of his choosing. The alchemic arrays tattooed on the palms of his hands made it seem as if he, like Ed and Al, needed no circle to perform his miracles.

In the broader context of the battlefield his methods instantly overwhelmed anyone not swathed completely in chemical-resistant body protection and gas masks. His sweeping hand patterns converted a percentage of the air into gasses of his choosing, spreading across vast areas to render the enemy unconscious. Poison was not beyond his ability, but after an unfortunate incident where a change in wind direction had resulted in the loss of too many friendlies, he had successfully avoided using that particular transmutation again - so far.

Mustang was certain that Messerschmitt was his best choice for this mission. He signed the orders and looked up, nodding to Hawkeye to let Armstrong in for his report.

"We may be cut short, Major; I'm expecting someone any minute. Please, have a seat. How has it been going?"

"Thank you, sir. Edward is in his room with Second Lieutenant Havoc, the orderly had just arrived for his morning examination. He had a difficult night. He is still communicating, mostly his displeasure, but it's something. It's only been a day, after all."

"Mmn. The more aware he gets, the harder everything is on him. Just as we suspected." Mustang paused in his writing to look off in the near distance for a moment. He caught himself, glanced at the Major and resumed his task, finishing off the document with a date, reaching into his drawer for the official stamp to apply in the appropriate box on each page.

"Yes, sir. I suppose this isn't anything outside of our expectations."

"So, he is eating, sleeping and eliminating acceptably?"

"Well…not yet."

"No? How bad is it?" Mustang slipped a clear "Official Document" cover on the orders and buzzed Hawkeye.

"No worse than we've seen historically, as long as it resolves soon."

"Yes, well…this issue with eating seems to be getting bigger and bigger. I haven't figured out if it's because Ed's having more of a problem with it at this stage of recovery, or if we're getting some push-back for going against medical protocol. Gansworth's leaning toward the theory that it's passive self-destructive behavior; another way he's been able to try and end his life in spite of our efforts. You're with him more than anyone. Opinion?"

"I hadn't been watching him with that in mind, Sir. He gets depressed, to be sure; as a matter of fact he's quite in the doldrums today. But my immediate reaction? It doesn't click. I don't know what it is that grips him every time we try to get him to eat; but I don't think it's about the will to live. It seems more…it seems more like his natural instincts have been destroyed. It's not in my expertise, but with all due respect, the things I've observed don't seem to mesh with the doctor's theory."

"I agree. I'll go so far as to say that I'm concerned that Gansworth doesn't see what we're seeing. We need to make the effort to assure that he doesn't need a feeding tube. That would be a huge step backward in my opinion, Major. A huge step."

Hawkeye bustled in and took the handoff, giving the papers a quick once-over.

"It should be in order," Mustang said.

"Yes, sir. I'll forward it up for approval and…"

"No. Lieutenant, there's no time. Apply the seal and get the copies ready for distribution immediately; I need the assignment set right away. The official package for Central goes in my review folder and not in the courier box. Make damned sure it doesn't go out yet."

"Sir. Yes, Sir."

"Now, Major, I apologize. Where were we?"

"You're emphasizing the need to avoid nasogastric intubation."

"I don't know if you're aware, Major," Mustang said darkly, his tone bringing the seriousness to a much higher level. "It's also been called gavage, and it is know to be a very effective form of torture in itself. Not that I'm saying that the doctor intends it to be so; I'm sure that in his eyes it will be done humanely and that the benefits outweigh the negatives. But I will do whatever I must to see to it that it doesn't happen. I'll be blunt. If it wasn't for the fact that Dr. Gansworth is so vital for the boys' recovery, he would already be stationed elsewhere for insisting on his authority to apply this treatment."

The Major startled visibly, caught completely off-guard by the idea that the doctor was deserving of this level of suspicion.

"Can he be trusted?"

"Major," Mustang shook his head slowly. "Trust is something we can ill afford right now. Things are uncertain; nothing can be assumed. Nothing. This is something everyone needs to understand. I can't impress it upon you enough, especially while you're taking watch over Edward and Alphonse."

Armstrong began to see deeper into the source of the dark circles under his superior's eyes.

"Thank you, sir. I believe that I have a better understanding of the situation now."

"Good."

"Colonel," Hawkeye broke in from the doorway. "Here are the copies. Major Messerschmitt has arrived."

"Send them in. I'm afraid we have to cut this short, Major. Rest up, and be back to relieve Havoc after he finishes assisting Ed with lunch. You know what my orders are. You will stay until further notice. And you will not, under any circumstances, allow the doctor to perform that procedure without my direct order. You may prevent it with whatever force is necessary. But - be sure that you don't alert him to that possibility ahead of time. Unless he crosses that line, he's not to know we're watching him. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir. Quite clear."

"Dismissed."

A man rather similar to the Colonel in build and features appeared in the door way, standing off to the side to make way for the larger man to exit. Slightly behind him, Sergeant Fuery came to a restless stop as well, anxious to find out exactly what his part would be in this mission.

"Alex," the dark-haired alchemist acknowledged.

"Jon." They nodded in passing, both allowing no delay for further niceties; this was all business today. They hadn't seen one another in some time, but acknowledging their friendship would have to wait.

"Shut the door, Sergeant," the Colonel began, swallowing the bitter regret as he prepared once again to send his men off to high risk, most unpleasant duty. "Gentlemen, have a seat."

_tbc_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

xxxxxxx

"Ed, I don't want you to be startled. This fellow is here from the infirmary to take care of a few things for you," Havoc warned, directing the cart-pushing orderly to stay slightly behind him. He frowned in mild frustration when there was no response to his warning, and no way to predict how this was going to go.

Much earlier in the day, the morning examination had gone off without a hitch, barely noticed in Ed's exhausted funk. But the level of tension had been ratcheting up steadily since then. Havoc guessed that it was due to the doctor's impending visit, which seemed to get a reaction of dread in the last few words the boy had been willing to utter during the change of watch with the Major. From that point forward, he had been silent and increasingly restless as the clock took forever to crawl towards noon.

Havoc tried every angle he could think of to get Ed to share what was bothering him, only to be frozen out each time. Edgy and distant, possibly out of touch with reality, his steady retreat into this self-imposed isolation was now nearly complete .

It seemed prudent to continue to do identity checks in the immediate hallway, in order to introduce and bring in visitors as unobtrusively as possible. His behavior just couldn't quite be trusted.

Even though he'd been warned and given a moment to absorb the idea, Ed startled anyway when the cart began rolling into his limited living space on slowly squeaking wheels. The voices he could ignore, but that distinct sound jolted him into high alert, primed into fight-or-flight readiness and riveting his full attention to seek its source. Those noisy wheels brought things into his proximity for others to use on him; time and again those things were used on him without his consent, heightening his sensitivity to the importance of the innocuous-looking old cart. It was with equal parts relief and alarm that he realized that it was not the doctor pushing it; if Gansworth came with a cart it meant that his visit might bring something even more disturbing than the dreaded 'talk' session. Even as that fear was relieved, it blossomed anew when the unfamiliar man and his unknown intentions kept coming right at him.

The slight composure he'd worked so hard to attain from his stretch of hermit-like concentration vanished. He pushed up and over to face the invader in a scrambling motion. It was imperative to get his guard up, get his heavy, uncooperative reflexes to snap to attention and get ready for defense. His organic arm was slow and tight, unwilling to move properly. He needed to stretch out to gain balance and get the mismatched limbs in synch quickly. It was nearly upon him and he wasn't even clear of the bed yet.

"Hey! Hey, it's all right." Havoc moved slowly and steadily forward, staying just head of the orderly's advance. Their cautious approach was eliciting plenty of interaction from Ed now, but there was still no sign of the familiarity that would put them on a calmer wavelength. "You know I'm not about to let anything bad happen in here. You know that, right?"

Ed dropped to his feet off the side of the bed and flung his arms out straight. It wasn't clear what the intent of that move was when it began; but it jerked the IV pole sharply, tipping it against the bedside table and knocking several items to the floor. The ensuing crash sent him jumping up and forward, just the kind of panicked reaction that Havoc had been trying to avoid.

In response, the tall Second Lieutenant sidestepped into his path to block his flight, giving way a little to cushion the impact when they collided, while the orderly abandoned his cart and swooped in to rescue the medical equipment that was starting to drag behind him.

"Ed! It's me, Ed. I've got you. Do you hear me?" Once his forward motion was arrested, Ed didn't fight or try to get away. The scarred forehead pressed so hard into Havoc's sternum that it hurt. The taller man planted his feet to stay balanced against the flurry of frantic grappling that came next, staying steady until Ed found a clutching hold that must have felt secure enough. The pushing gradually eased until it was just body weight pressing against him for support, and the erratic movement slowed to a halt.

Havoc tilted his head back for a better look but still couldn't see much. Maybe he'd gotten a little too accustomed to being a sure-fire soothing influence; he was simply not making enough headway in lending support today. Ed hadn't called out to him; he hadn't verbalized anything to him at all. He touched the disarrayed blond hair in the petting motion that usually served to calm him and connected them again when things got confusing or out of control. If it was of any help now it didn't exact the usual signs of its effectiveness.

"What's wrong, buddy? Slow down now, take it easy. Everything's fine. No shots, no exam, nothing like that. He just needs to take care of a few things, like your bedding. " The slight body was now nearly motionless against him; heavy breathing was the only evidence that he had just been in a storm of activity moments before.

Such a long streak of erratic behavior and unwillingness to communicate had to mean something more than just a bad or uncooperative mood. Disappointing as it was, Havoc could only conclude that Ed was having some kind of setback. At least they were well-versed in how to deal with him in this state: keep it simple, insulate him from stimuli and minimize intrusions until he snapped out of it.

It took several more minutes before Havoc could persuade his silently clinging charge to loosen his death grip; it wasn't clear how much longer it might be until they could break contact altogether. With careful, even pressure Havoc started forward and walked them both back away from the door by inches. Ed's resistance to being moved was softening up just a little with each small step. The orderly had remained still after righting the equipment, an instinct Havoc was immensely grateful for as they moved past him without further incident.

The boy's breathing had just begun to slow when the back of his leg touched the bed and he stiffened again; Havoc picked up on it right away. Body language and facial expression were his only sources of feedback right now, and that face was still turned down and hidden.

"Hang on, Boss. Stay right there a second. We're going to sit you in the chair. I just need to move it away a little so he has room to fix up the bed and clean all this up."

The automail's grip prevented Havoc from moving away. Ed's other hand started worrying its way between them across Havoc's shirt front, driven by the need to touch the familiar rough texture of his coat. His hand jerked away when it brushed an unexpected hard, rectangular shape in the shirt pocket; after a moment's retreat, he touched it again gingerly. When nothing happened, his fingers worried at it persistently through the material. He raised his head for the first time since bolting from the bed, trying to get a look at what it might be.

Havoc finally caught a glimpse of his expression; it was shifting into one of concentration instead of fear.

"You want to know what that is?" Still easing them both in the right direction, he slid his hand up between them as well and pulled the ration bar out, latching on to the opportunity to keep Ed distracted. "It's like a granola bar. You remember these, don't you? Not very appetizing, but I keep one to gnaw on when I can't have a smoke. Hard as hell, though."

That description didn't dissuade Ed's curiosity. His head lifted fully upright to follow the item, bringing his face completely into view again. Havoc went with the moment and handed it over to lure him out a little more.

"Do you want me to open it for you? I guess you can have it if you want."

Ed's full attention locked on the small, silvery package he now had in his palm; he needed to use the automail arm, too, if he was going to open the wrapper on his own. After a moment's hesitation, he released Havoc and moved away from him just far enough to see and use both hands.

With that move he tuned the rest of the room out, as benignly distant as he had been before the infernal squeaking set him off. Guiding him became effortless, allowing his caretakers to lower their level of alert. Havoc pulled the chair away from the bed and took Ed's shoulders to ease him over and down to sit on it, and the kid didn't seem to be aware of being moved. Even when the orderly resumed his cautious advance to change the bedding, it went unnoticed. The panic over the intrusion had resolved itself as quickly as it had begun.

The first experimental bite didn't even make a chip in the bar; yet Ed's expression brightened a bit. He gnawed lightly on it for a few minutes, oblivious to the expedited service his room was getting. Havoc could only shake his head and wonder what the hell was going on now in that scrambled brain; this positive response to food was great, but so out of the blue. He stayed very close just in case; but everything remained calm and quiet. The understated bustle of the linen change and clean up acted as white noise in the background.

The pressure of normal biting was ineffective, and Ed stepped up his efforts. It took a few seriously forceful tries before a piece broke off with a hard snap. Ed winced, and Havoc suddenly remembered Ed's jaw injuries; the severe dislocation way back when they first found him; and the broken bone from his more recent trip to the Gate.

Maybe giving him something like that was a mistake.

"Hey, Boss, maybe that's not such a good idea, huh? Now that I think about it, they've probably been giving you soft food for a reason," he said, reluctantly deciding that the risk of harm from the item was more important than its calming influence.

Ed froze at the interruption, looking up with an expression Havoc couldn't decipher. He turned away again and clutched the bar to his body, hunching over possessively.

The orderly's relief that he'd been able to complete the housekeeping so quickly and efficiently for this normally uncooperative patient evaporated. He set the new gowns aside, preparing to assist.

"Yes, I think the Lieutenant is right. It's not a good idea for patients to have things that the nutritionist hasn't approved. Look here, I brought you a nice lunch and I'm sure it's much better for you. You shouldn't eat something that's so hard on your jaw."

The only reply was the hurried renewal of gnashing teeth on hard substance.

Havoc scratched his head and sighed - he hadn't succeeded in getting a single bite of food in Ed today until now. And now that he had something he actively wanted, they had to take it away.

Why did everything have to be so damned difficult?

"Hey, Ed, let's…if you really want that…look, let's soak it and soften it up a little. How about that?"

He reached out, and Ed pulled his prize out of range as far as the tubing tethered to his arm would allow. "I'll give it back. I promise. Look, I can tell that it hurts when you have to bite down so hard. That can't be good, right? Eating should be enjoyable. It shouldn't hurt. Let me fix it up for you." Maybe it wasn't food that was on any dietary list, but it couldn't be that bad for him as long it was softened and not doing any damage. He wanted it, damn it, that was the thing Havoc was trying desperately to work with. The orderly was frowning but didn't say anything; no doubt he didn't approve, but this was the only compromise the beleaguered officer could think of on such short notice.

Ed stopped and stared at the bar again. He wasn't sure why finding this hard, dry nearly inedible object suddenly made him ravenous, and why it was the only thing he'd felt compelled to eat in as long as he could remember.

Or why the offer to soak and soften it suddenly made it as unappealing as the other food they kept trying to shove down his throat. He shook his head with a frown; the chill that crept up his chest warned him away from contemplating it further.

The deep recesses of his brain quaked with the provocation of that kind offer, oozing dark memories closer to the surface with an unnerving pressure. This was growing at an alarming rate into something capable of completely disrupting his ability to concentrate, and for who knows how long. It wasn't important enough to be fussing over any longer, there were more disturbing things to deal with, in particular the pressure of the doctor's impending visit and what to say to him.

He looked at Havoc's open hand and suddenly dropped the contentious object in it to shut down the mental static the whole subject was creating. His jaw throbbed in pain clear up to his temple and the small bite of food had done nothing but revive the empty ache in his gut. That was okay, though. It would feel much worse to be full. The memory of that feeling brought back the more familiar clutch of nausea, dampening his appetite and snuffing the fleeting hunger response completely. In a heartbeat the subject was closed.

"Thank you, Ed. I'll soften it up and…"

"No," Ed croaked, voice dry from disuse. "Take it back."

Startled that Ed had the presence of mind to speak so plainly, it took a moment before Havoc gathered his wits to press harder to keep that urge to eat alive.

"But it's no trouble, and you seemed to like it. Right? So just let me…"

"I don't want it."

"Ed, come on now, you have to eat something. Remember that. The tube? You don't want that, do you?"

"Not hungry." These were simple statements of fact. Arguing wasn't going to change his mind, not that he had the energy for argument anyway. This was just adding weight to the unstable, disjointed atmosphere swirling thick in his head since the morning light needled open his reluctant eyes. He had to get a grip on his thoughts and it wasn't possible with the constant interruption of the outside world, luring him out to deal with threats and distract him with shiny objects. The doctor was still going to show up and expect him to know things and talk about them, that was unsettling enough. He couldn't risk being unprepared and spouting off about the wrong things like he had last time, saying dangerous things about the Colonel that he should have kept to himself. He couldn't just sit there and say nothing to the doctor's questions, either; it would make him seem like he was still crazy, and he wasn't crazy, he was starting to resent the assumption that he'd ever been.

But if he tried to describe this strangeness that had been building inside, the crawly, shivery sensation of something unknown lurking in his head, squirming just beyond his perception and threatening to erupt, they wouldn't understand. It defied description anyway. So many strange feelings came and went in an average day these days, he had held a momentary hope that this was just another; but all his instincts told him otherwise. This was strong, coming from deep in the recesses of the gaps of missing memory, and rattled him from the inside out. He couldn't sense it clearly enough to describe it rationally in some therapy session; but it was enough to know that he didn't want that particular memory to get any clearer if he could help it.

"Well look, don't say that yet, let's see what they sent you today. I'll bet everything else here is really easy to eat. And this won't hurt you, I promise." Havoc lifted the cover from the tray on the cart set it aside. "Hey, how about that? They set you up with some nice hot tomato soup." He dipped the spoon into and stirred it a bit, conscientious in his duty to screen the food for anything that looked or smelled suspicious before letting Ed have it. It looked like they'd made it a bit thicker and chunkier than usual, perhaps so that whatever he managed to eat would be a little more sustaining. It did smell delicious, the mess sergeant and his staff were really stepping up to the challenge now that they'd been informed of Ed's 'eating disorder'. It seemed to be fine.

Ed's head twitched away quickly once he caught a glimpse of what was being offered.

"Just don't! Stop," he said with a shudder. The sight made his brain twist ominously in his skull, the visual connecting with a snap of electricity to the dark pressure looming there. "Please."

"Okay, for now. Maybe later, huh? For now just have something to drink. You must be thirsty." Havoc plied him with the grape juice from his food tray, refusing to give up entirely. He placed it in directly in Ed's hand and pretty much made him put the straw in his mouth, all in one firm motion, leaving no pause for second thought.

The gentle force of his move took Ed by surprise, and he obeyed while apprehensively searching the blue eyes for any sign of aggression.

But Havoc wore an encouraging smile while he supervised Edward's drinking, keeping a friendly but firm hand on him until he'd taken every drop. He knew better than to let any sign of his frustration at their bad luck show; Ed was extremely sensitive to the any indication of negative emotions.

It reeked that on the first attempt at eating that Ed had made entirely of his own volition, he'd gotten hold of something unsuitable. But since he'd taken the initiative, maybe if food was left in reach, he'd do it again soon. He took the tray from the cart and set it carefully on the bedside table. The soup had no meat or dairy products in it and seemed safe to leave sitting out for a while; it shouldn't be unpleasant to eat at room temperature if Ed changed his mind later.

The orderly finished gathering up the empty infusion bags and took a few more notes. Ed might have thought that he was being subtle, but Havoc noticed that his attention had been caught again. He was watching every time a note was taken or a bag marked.

Those amber eyes tracked the writing instruments, a pen and a marker, every time they appeared now that the ration bar no longer attracted him.

Havoc could only assume that Ed was still looking for a way to mark his body, to repeat the attempt to sacrifice himself for his brother's sake. Looking back over the day's events, his behavior was more complex than he had assumed, and even more troubling. The way he reacted earlier seemed to evidence a lack of presence and reasoning; but it appeared now that Ed's mind had not been idling at all. It was covertly in high gear, yet still producing inappropriate behavior.

"Oh, I almost forgot," the orderly said, more than ready to get on his way to something less stressful. "Dr. Gansworth's behind schedule, seems he's had something come up. He shouldn't be too much later, though."

Havoc shrugged and nodded, having figured that out a while ago. The clock had already told him that was too late for a timely start to that 'noon' visit.

"Goodbye, Edward. I hope you have a good afternoon." Not waiting for a reply that might not come, the orderly cautiously maneuvered his cart around and made his way back out into the hall with quickening steps.

Ed's restless hands came up in a half-wave of dismissal. Carts, strangers, food, chairs, markers, pens - enough! No more distractions! It had to stop now. He rose from the chair, started to sit again and then reversed his move abruptly, impulsively snatching up the I.V. pole just to slam it back down. He let go, then gripped it again, pushing down hard as if to sink it permanently in place.

His inner voice surprised him by sending approving noises for the first time today, seizing immediately on the idea of locking things in their spot. He repeated placing the pole one more time, and then turned and tried pushing down on the surface of the bed. It felt like the right thing to do; like he had discovered something that needed to be done. Getting it firmly planted with his own hands made it more trustworthy, easier to be close to. It acted more like it was going to stay in one place.

He let his hands trail down along the edge of the mattress, getting it set just so. When he reached the bottom corner, he forced it down until his senses told him it had locked firmly into place. He hadn't realized how unstable everything was until he fixed this part of it; now, by comparison to the rest of the room, it became a solid island. It took a moment of worry before he could decide what to do next; try to get more of the room to behave, or stick with the success in hand.

It would have to be later, after he dealt with Gansworth, before he could spare the mental energy to set the whole room to rights. In deference to his need to prepare himself, he settled cautiously on the bed and made sure it still felt stabilized.

It worked. It gave him a secure feeling now, just a little, but enough to settle for. He nestled into it gratefully; his focus returned to the doctor's visit, searching for something to say to prepare for it. Words still failed him. With a mind so full, it was grueling to try and select a single problem or thought and separate it out for examination. When he looked inward on his own like this, the mess was still overwhelming, alive in a squirming, tangled mass of plenty so dense it was nearly a solid.

But when the doctor asked those questions point-blank, it froze all that noise and left him like a deer in headlights with nothing to draw from, barely able to answer the simplest thing. He had to try and come up with something ahead of time to avoid that feeling of being trapped in his own head again.

As much as his instincts told him to keep a lid on things and wait for the ominous memories to recede, he was running out of time to come up with something. It was with this single-minded focus that he began picking at the emotional scabs that itched and provoked him.

It was a bit of a relief, at least for the Second Lieutenant, when the orderly and his contraband writing instruments finally left the room. Maybe it was only a coincidence, but right after the mention of the doctor Ed had retreated back into his worried funk and shielded himself completely. Whether that was good or bad, he had no clue. Maybe being upset when you talked to your shrink was ideal; maybe you'd be more likely to get things out in the open that might not come out as easily otherwise. That seemed logical .

Once he'd finished his odd manipulation of the bed and climbed onto it, Ed's interaction with anyone or anything else in the room stopped cold again. Havoc suppressed the resulting urge to keep trying to get Ed to warm up to him, to try and get him to talk again and maybe make him feel better. The young alchemist's pain was written all over him, in expression and in body language. But rather than soothing it for the moment, Havoc finally convinced himself it was wiser to leave it exposed for treatment; letting it come to the surface for Gansworth to see was probably the best thing for him in the long run.

It wasn't easy to witness, though, and he kept having to remind himself why he shouldn't interfere right now other than maintaining a careful watch. Truthfully, he had to admit that he was glad now that Armstrong was so insistent in taking the shift back this afternoon.

Ed curled up stiffly on the bed after a while, feigning an attempt to rest to keep any movement in the room from bothering him. His focus was riveted to the near distance at the side of the bed and didn't shift when the Major came to resume his watch. Instead of his usual plea to try and delay Havoc's departure, the change in guard was accompanied by silence and grinding teeth.

Xxxx

"Wow, what's with all the racket? Try and hold it down, willya?" Havoc grinned as he approached the serious pair, silently immersed in their separate tasks. He'd taken a deep breath and pasted on his happy face just before he arrived, hoping to get some sort of playful response in return. This constant moving from one bleak scene to another was getting pretty old. Maybe what everyone needed was just an opening, a little prompting to loosen up and joke a little.

No such luck.

Lieutenant Hawkeye gave him a mildly reproachful look. "We're working, Havoc."

"So I see." His smiled faded considerably. Alphonse was at the smaller desk, hunkering down over his task to avoid looking up, if he wasn't mistaken. Well, that wasn't going to make him go away. "You 'bout ready to wrap it up, kid?"

"I'm not done yet," Al mumbled, continuing to thumb through the stack of green papers on the desk. He'd gotten into the groove of the repetitive work, indulging himself in fruitless wondering about Ed's current condition. Did Ed miss him, did he ask to see him only to be refused, the same as he was? Could he sort papers, sit at a desk without pain, maintain himself in the present? Did he know who or where he was at all? Did he pass by this way in the last day or so?

And along comes Havoc, stepping on these private thoughts as if they were not allowed, doling out the time outside his quarters in unsatisfying, stingy portions.

"It's fine, Al. That doesn't have to be finished right away," Hawkeye said encouragingly, mustering a smile of her own.

"No, I really want to finish it, ma'am. Just give me some more time."

"We really should get you back to your quarters," Havoc intoned.

Al's hands came to a halt. His whole body stiffened with bottled anger. Havoc was ready for it; he knew what the look on his face would be despite the way he deliberately kept it turned away.

Even though she hadn't spent nearly as much time with him, Hawkeye knew how Al was reacting as well.

"Alphonse has one more task, Lt. Havoc. Al, would you please take these papers in to the Colonel? I'll finish up with the green copies. Don't worry, there's more every day, they pile up fast. I'm sure that I'll have plenty for you to do next time."

Al's breathing hitched, and he swallowed hard, using every drop of his self-control to regain his composure.

"Yes, ma'am." He exchanged piles of paper with the benignly smiling woman and went to knock on the Colonel's door.

Once Al was beckoned into the office, Havoc leaned over the desk quickly.

"How was it?"

"He can do the work, but that's about it. He's wound up so tight it's like he's ready to explode."

"Did say anything significant? Tell you how he's feeling? Ask for anything?"

"No, no and no. He's obviously miserable, Jean. And he's not much on giving away any clues about what he's thinking."

"I was hoping maybe he'd open up to you. At least a little."

She shook her head in disappointment, wary of the boy's impeding re-appearance. "He's anything but open. And you know, that's just the opposite of the way I remember him."

Havoc nodded as the creak of the door punctuated Al's return.

"Ready to go?"

Al's sullen look matched his slow pace. "Whatever."

They left, as always, in the opposite direction of Edward's room. It made for a slightly circuitous trip, but it assured that they would not accidentally run into Ed in the hallway on his way to the officer's lavatory, or should he make one of his now-rare trips to the Colonel's office.

"Can you tell me when yet?"

Havoc looked over and met Al's brown eyes as they drilled him accusingly. He resigned himself to having to answer the question.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because we don't know when it will be. He just made it back here, Al, give him a chance."

"Not that bull again. That doesn't tell me anything."

"It's just hard for him, that's all. He needs to get a little more stabilized."

"Any day now, any day. That's what you keep saying, right? You know everything, you're the experts on what he needs, you don't even ask my opinion, not ever. You don't tell me any details. You ever think that I might know him pretty well? That maybe I'd be some help? But, no, you just decide I'm useless and he doesn't need me at all. That's all a load of crap."

"Hey! I don't like…"

"Know what? I don't care what you like. I don't wanna hear your double-talk anymore, so just save it."

"Look, I know you're disappointed. But be realistic. This was going to take time. You knew that. "

Al tried to walk fast enough to get ahead, to take the infuriating man out of his peripheral vision, but his balky legs grew less stable and his speed decreased instead.

"Damn it!" he growled at himself.

"I know you're…"

"I wasn't talking to you! I'm not talking to you! Leave me alone!" He shoved the extended hand away, adding one too many impulsive moves to think about, and lost his balance.

Havoc grabbed him before he completed his fall and barely missed being elbowed for his efforts.

"Stop it, Al!" he barked. Another elbow came his way. As far as the fair-haired soldier was concerned, that signaled the end of the game.

He had his orders for this watch. Containing and maintaining this kid pretty much summed it up. As much as he'd try to do it in a friendly manner, when the situation called for it, there was no question who was going to prevail.

With swift, cold precision he locked Al in a jailer's hold and picked up the pace with very little pause in their journey. Al could use his energy to try and stay upright or he could be hauled along like a sack of onions, but they were going to follow orders and move to the specified location with all possible speed.

By the time he escorted Al into the tiny room and propelled him onto the bed, the physical confrontation was over.

"Lieutenant, come on! Not this place again. Not this early. I can't stay in here. You know I can't be in here that long. Please!"

"This is it, I have my orders. I know you don't like it, but you need to stay in your quarters this afternoon. We've got some official visitors coming by and it's better if you stay out of sight."

"Please!" Al rose up to stand and face Havoc directly. As soon as their eyes met, he had to look away. His cause was lost. "Even Fuhrer Bradley knows I'm here, what difference does it make if somebody sees me? Damn it, you're just messing with me!"

"I'm following Colonel Mustang's direct order. Neither one of us gets to question that. You agreed to these conditions, Al."

"But I can't do this now!" The cramped room and Havoc's dominating attitude sent widening fissures into the fledgling control he'd developed to suppress the illogical mantra that his heart wanted to beat out every day since he rose from the cold, dark silence.

_I'm still buried. _

He pressed the heels of his hands to his ears to try and force those words away again, to straighten up and stop thinking such clearly false nonsense. If he tried hard he could stop thinking it, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stop feeling it.

Havoc tugged his arm to make him uncover his ears and listen.

"Yes, you can. You've been doing it, you just have to keep hanging in there. It's not going to be forever."

"It already feels like forever! Just…just…let's go out! Just for a minute, anywhere, it doesn't matter. Somewhere no one will see us. Just let me see the sky. Let me see it! I'll come right back in, I will, I swear!"

"You'll be fine right here. Let's start your meds early and make this easier. You'll feel better in nothing flat." Havoc wished that the kid would just give in now; the medication was highly effective in calming him down, and he'd have to take it sooner or later anyway. He motioned expectantly to the bottle on the small, dented steel shelf bolted to the wall next to the bed.

"I said I'd be good!" Al's voice was full of raw emotion, and getting far louder than the Lieutenant could permit. "I just want a minute, you jerk! What the hell do you want from me? What are you trying to do?"

"Not so loud."

"I don't get it! When it comes to seeing Brother, I've said I'd wait, I said I'd do whatever, and I've been doing it, even though you just keep making excuses why I can't see him. But I just want to go outside! Just me, just step out, how is that some big thing to you? I want out! Get your - don't touch me! What, now you're gonna shut me up?"

"If you can't be quiet, that's exactly what I will do. The answer is still no. No more argument, either. The subject is closed." He was hovering close but showed his open palms. He wasn't going to let this get truly physical if he could help it. He wanted to make it clear that he was serious, but show Al that there was plenty of leeway to get through this in ways that would not require him to use force again.

Al dropped back to sit on the bed with a hard thump and fisted the sweat off of his neck. His voice shook when he ground out his resentful reply.

"That's right, you're the big man, you'll just pin me down and stick me with something if I don't do what you say."

"If I have to. We're following orders whether you like it or not, Alphonse. The easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

When Havoc stepped closer Al snagged the small pill bottle himself and ripped off the cap, putting it to his lips like a glass.

"My choice, then? My only choice? Obey or obey or what, what choice are you talking about?"

"Al, cut the crap, don't play around like that…"

"Take them? You want me to take them? Take them all?"

"Hey, are you serious? Knock it off! If you're gonna act like that, give those to me. I mean it, Al, don't horse around."

"No, you said to take my medicine, and I don't really have any choices, right? Right?" Al's voice was still climbing in higher octaves. "So I'll obey! What the hell does it matter, anyway? You're not going to let me see Ed, are you? It's all some stupid game. You know what I've done. We both know I'm really a prisoner. You're never going to let me near him. So what's the point in dragging this out? What's the point?"

"Put the bottle down. You're wrong, it's going to be soon, unless you do something to screw it up. You can't be doing stupid shit like this, Al. Ed needs you."

"Liar!" Al rasped, his throat closed tight. Havoc's hand was close, so he leaned back to keep distance between them and the pills rattled slightly, sliding against his lower lip. They didn't listen to him, no one listened, and he was tired of being forever overruled. Ed didn't listen when he told him not to do the human transmutation. He ignored him even though he yelled at him not to go off against orders with the homunculi known to be in the area, that it might be a trap. He turned a deaf ear to his screams when he begged not to be buried; it came as no surprise now that Havoc didn't listen him when he said this was more than he could take. Words just weren't enough.

"Al. You do that, and you'll be in the ward getting your stomach pumped in about five minutes flat. This won't accomplish anything. I think you know that; just calm down and use your head. Give 'em to me, buddy. Come on, do it now."

The flash of uncertainty that Havoc saw in the trembling brown eyes was encouraging. The cold glassy wall of anger, always swift to appear but unpredictable in duration, was cracking already.

He's starting to listen and think again, Havoc thought as he held his hand out. Softly, softly, he reminded himself, you have to approach him softly now. That's why the message was getting through now. When you bark at him at this stage, he'll get worse again.

"You've got orders not to take me anywhere. So I can take these and you'll just have to watch me die." The grim, subdued reply was startlingly quiet. "That'd work better for everyone anyway."

"Won't happen. I'd haul your ass straight to the infirmary. Count on it. Now take a deep breath and listen to me. Your self-control slipped, that's all, remember what Doc said about acting out when you're feeling like this. You're not trapped, no one's trying to hurt you, you don't need to fight us. You need to let it go."

"But…but at least this is something…" Al responded by taking the hand with the bottle away from his face, still holding it close. The light green color of the pills seemed to cast a glow just visible in the corner of his eye. It was a way to resolve everything. He was still buried and only the dead belonged in such a state. Any other action just led to more endless uncertainly, helplessness and pain. He hadn't been contemplating this, not seriously, but for these fleeting moments in time when the darkest part of his soul held the reins he was fully capable of it.

As the grip of anger and despair loosened, so did his conviction that he might have stumbled onto the right answer.

"It's going to make things worse, not better. Just put them down and let's talk, all right?"

Al waffled but his stance still signaled his resistance to giving in.

"Better, worse, I can't tell the difference any more." That push of anger was ebbing quickly and leaving him high and dry, exposed to his own foolishness when he realized that his over-dramatic behavior didn't really add up. Of course they'd haul him off and pump his stomach. It was a ridiculous threat. He must look like an infant bawling for attention. No one would believe that he meant it; it flew in the face of everything he'd struggled to go through, only to childishly abandon his brother in a fit of pique. Self-loathing reared its ugly head with new vigor as Havoc's approach grew more sympathetic.

"It's not something you want to do. You can't be acting out like this, Al. You have to show everyone that you're under control." Havoc's hand hovered expectantly as he gauged Al's waning stamina. His belligerence was visibly deflating. "You're getting better every day. It's just a long, slow process. You've got to hang in there, roll with it. Ask for help when you need it. Talk to me, damn it. I'm always in your corner."

Al looked down at the bottle, flushing red with confusion and regret at his behavior. He was still angry to a degree and off-balance, still quivering inside at being forced back into the tiny room, like a small pet being tossed back into its undersized habitat. But it wasn't right to be mad at Lt. Havoc. He tried to help, he put up with the endless shit and bad moods and still tried to be sympathetic. The man was getting fed up, and he couldn't blame him - it wasn't possible for anyone else to understand how the relocations of his displaced soul had left him estranged and even unsure of his own existence. Yet Havoc had never let his frustration get the best of him; at least, not completely.

"It's all mucked up," he said dully. He didn't resist when Havoc reached in and took the hand holding the bottle in a firm grip. His uneven breathing filled the uncertain pause.

"You can't see Ed if you're laid up sick on pills, or dead from an overdose. And you won't be allowed to see him while you're threatening to." Havoc's voice was firm and confident; when he turned his wrist and pulled, the bottle came away easily. He let out a captive breath.

Al's hand came forward, palm up and shaking slightly. The significance of Havoc taking away his pills hit home all at once. He hated them, but he absolutely could not remain in this room for any length of time without them. "I'll do what you say. Give me one or I can't stand to stay in here much longer."

Havoc moved back out of reach and retrieved the cap from off of the floor.

"Maybe we should wait a minute."

"I…I need it now. I don't know what to do, but I'm trying to do what you want. I can't help it. I need it. "

Havoc's mouth twisted regretfully as he nodded and retrieved a full water bottle. He fished out one pill and put the rest securely in his pocket. "Yeah. Sorry. I know you do."

"It's just that it's so early. We'll be in here so long. It's still daytime. It's still light out, right? Lieutenant?" Al looked at the pill and cringed. "It's like losing a whole 'nother day."

Havoc waited patiently, declining to comment until Al had relented and swallowed down the pill with half the bottle of water. He handed over a second pill.

"Think of it as getting past another day of waiting."

"Two?" Al asked, a note of pain in his voice. He had been really bad. He'd crossed that line again. This dose meant a total knock-out. Havoc had judged him to be unstable, and he couldn't really argue with that. The blonde nodded solemnly, and Al dismally obeyed.

Uncomfortable silence accompanied them for several minutes. Al focused on his hands, trying to relegate himself to the impending effects of the medication.

"I just wanted to go out and take a walk. Step outside, even. That's all."

"Its up to the Colonel. I'll ask again if you want, but the answer is probably going to be the same. Try to understand; it's a security issue."

"Tell him I'll be good. I wouldn't try to run off. I'm not going to leave Ed behind. You'd come with me anyway, right? It's your job to keep me here, isn't it?"

"I said I'd ask. I will, I'll try. Now get changed, all right? If you wait much longer I'll have to do it."

"Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry." He kept his head down, fighting tears that were trying to erupt in the letdown from his anger. "I wouldn't ask to stay here if it wasn't for Brother. I know you're just helping me 'cause of him."

"Here." Havoc tossed him his pajama pants, outwardly casual, in reality watching him like a hawk for any wrong move. "Better now?"

Al nodded, just to quell Havoc's concern; he couldn't call this 'better'. He had to let them drug him in order to be a more willing captive. That wasn't better. This was a hoop he had to jump through every waking minute of every day now, and if he could just maintain more control, he could get through it. This wasn't torture and sickness and surgery like his brother had endured. Comparatively, he'd been pampered. All he had to do was cool it and wait. Why was he so pathetically unable to do the simplest thing right? How had he managed to get his body back, yet allowed himself to become so helpless, unable to make the decisions about the very basics, both for him and for Ed?

Why couldn't he let go of the feeling of being trapped under the tons of heavy, dark dirt and move past the time he spent underground?

He hated being so emotionally confused and out of control. He hated his angry outbursts most of all. It was the opposite of the person he knew himself to be. It struck more fear in his heart, possible evidence that he was no longer the only captain of this body, if not his soul.

Fear that was already rampant over Ed's absence from his life, no less traumatic than the loss of his mother. When she passed away he had been sheltered from complete abandonment. Unlike Ed, he had the continuity of an older relative to rely upon, one he knew would be there for him, someone to trust and take responsibility. The full weight of her passing had fallen squarely on the blonde's shoulders, made heavier with the burden of caring for a younger brother. It was probably the total loss of caring guidance that caused Ed to make those bad decisions and break the laws of alchemy; Al had always felt that his objections to their path came from his lesser need, not his clearer head. As much as he missed their mother, he still had Ed to love and take care of him.

But now that he should be the one to do the caretaking, they not only didn't let him see Ed, they didn't tell him the truth when he was ill, or give him any sort of detailed information about his condition. Ed had nearly died and he looked so fragile and damaged the last time he'd seen him. It was hard to suppress that swell of panic in his belly when the thought of Ed passing away crossed his mind. Would they even let him be there at the death bed, or would the blue suits stand guard while he disappeared without a chance to say goodbye?

The sting of that thought made his eyes water, and he swiped away the moisture with the back of his hand, trying to get a handle on his runaway mental processes as they threaded through the issues they'd been through time and time before.

If only the walls would stop crushing in on him, maybe he could calm down and get some kind of bearing on things. Get balanced and brave enough to meditate and really look inside further to see if he was indeed harboring some dark presence, to make sure that he was not a danger to Ed…

"Al."

Havoc's voice snapped him back to the present situation with a jolt.

He shook himself back on task, stripping down right away to avoid spacing out again. The meds were kicking in big time; his arms were growing slower and heavier already. If he waited any longer Havoc would have to help him change.

Again.

This was starting to be all too familiar, but he wasn't getting any more comfortable with any of this, and he was pretty sure that he never would be.

No doubt that was why they hit him with such a killer dose of the meds. Pretty soon there would be a few minutes of transitional relaxation, then - boom - the world would go dark until the next day.

He wobbled stepping into the pants and Havoc was right there, catching his elbow, supporting him while he pulled them up.

"Thanks. I…I mean it. I'm sorry. I know you're only putting up with me to help Ed."

"It's all right, Al. Here, let me help. I don't want you to fall." Havoc reached past while still steadying him and pulled down the bed sheet. He had complete control of the situation again; it was safe, for both of them, to lower his guard and offer a little solace.

Al sank down obediently, getting lightheaded and insecure already. "Not gonna go, are you?" he breathed. "I m-mean it, I'm really sorry."

"I'm staying right here, don't worry. It's not just 'putting up with' you, and it's not just to help Ed. I wish you'd stop saying that. We're trying to help you both, Al." Havoc said. Damn, the kid had this little window of time, right before he knocked out completely, where he seemed like the same Al in hulking armor that used to tag along worshipfully after his big brother. His tone softened, and that vulnerable, kindly quality came through; his voice even sounded so much more like it had before. It almost made him feel bad for having to muscle him around so much when he got out of line.

Al watched owlishly as the man fussed with his covers, offered him water, then settled next to him with a relaxed posture. Havoc's expression didn't reveal any resentment or accusation, and his irritation with the backtalk had disappeared. He was showing an open and sympathetic side that was almost irresistible and Al wanted to stay with him, to really make him understand that he didn't mean to be a jerk, that he didn't understand why everything touched raw nerve and set him off so uncontrollably. He just wasn't himself, and it was still too frightening to contemplate why, too risky to share the suspicions that might cut him off from this bare trickle of emotional support he was able to connect with.

He'd never be able to get that into words properly with the thickening fog in his brain; but he vaguely understood that once his mind was clear again, the static of his resident anger wouldn't allow him to express it at all.

"Good…" A last bit of desperate anger flared at the unfairness as he fought the weight of his own head to keep Havoc in sight. This little plateau of calm was so brief, already the quicksand of the sleeping preparation was hauling him under and out of reach. "'cause…I know I'm…I'm getting so bad, and…I don't mean to…and now you're my…my only…" Al's sentence went unfinished, trailing off.

"Your only what, kid?" Havoc sighed to himself, shaking his head. The brown eyes had closed and the boy's face was softening with artificial peace, the desperation fading. It was pathetic, really, that the only relief they'd been able to provide to the boys with any consistency was chemical. He hated to think where they'd be right now without it. They just had to weather things a little longer, get Ed a little more stable, help Al regain more of his self control - he had to believe that getting them back together would put them both on the road to recovering their lives. It was too depressing to think otherwise.

At least he was relieved from having to worry about his charge going anywhere for the next ten hours or so. Havoc stretched glumly. Al was right, it was still far too early for bedtime. Still plenty of time to write a report about this incident and get it forwarded before the doctor went off-duty for the day; it was a pretty safe bet that he'd be wanting to check up on Al's mental status first thing tomorrow after this.

Havoc muttered and pulled the chair around so he could prop his feet up on the edge of the bed and rest the clipboard on his legs to write. Good thing he'd left a book in here for later, because sitting around in this tiny room would drive him stir-crazy otherwise.

xxxx

"You whine like a spoiled child. Do as you're told, Envy. You didn't spend any time thinking this through at all, did you?" Lust spat.

"I'm serious, they've got everything locked down too tight. It's I.D.'s and passwords and bullshit everywhere you turn! I need some help here. A diversion or something." Envy lolled irritably across the back of the settee, prodding Gluttony sharply for spite.

"Hey! Lust, make him stop!"

"Stop it, Envy. Leave him alone."

"Don't keep telling me what to do. Who elected you the fucking buzzard queen, anyway?"

"Curse at me all you like, you won't bully me into letting you slither off and do nothing. Do you want to take this to a higher court? Shall we let Father settle it? That would be fine with me." Her dark eyes narrowed menacingly.

"Bitch."

"Hm. I didn't think you would. Then don't argue. You were given an assignment. That means you make some actual effort before you come sniveling back here looking for someone else do it for you. At least get some sort of plan together on your own. For once, use your head. You can't give up just because it isn't as easy as snagging the other Elric boy. Were you just sitting around mindlessly, waiting for them to hand him to you on a platter?"

"Okay then, here's my plan: I'll just force my way in and take the damned kid. It's not like they can stop me."

"Oh, I see. Just risk our plans and defy Father's will? Try that and see what happens to you." She splayed her slender, black-gloved fingers in the air in frustration. "They're just humans, and humans are simple. This can't be that complicated."

"Hey, I already told you what the problem is. So what's your big solution?"

"You. You're going to go back and stay at it until you've observed something useful, something we can work with. Bring back some intelligence. Although, in your case, I'm not sure that you have anything to keep intelligence in."

"Filthy old whore," he growled.

"Well, we certainly don't want to get into a discussion about what you're made of, do we?" she smirked. "Now get out of here and get back to work. Unless you'd like to go down and make that appeal?"

"You better hope and pray that I never get a chance to give the orders around here." With a flip of his lethal mane, Envy smacked Gluttony across the back of the head and was gone.

"Owww!"

"That idiot. He'd better make some kind of headway. Come on now, we'll find you something to eat. I can't concentrate with your stomach growling like that all the time."

"Someone!" the bald homunculus corrected her, slobbering enthusiastically. "Find me someone to eat!"

xxx

Master Sergeant Fuery gnawed on his inner cheek in concentration, adjusting his glasses to check his directions again. This was the place, all right.

Major Messerschmitt had deposited him quite a few clicks away before heading on to rejoin his squad; it would be another half-day's travel for the convoy to reach the battle site in the province to the north, and the detour to drop him off had to be kept to a minimum. They would be investigating the scene of the carnage and retrieving bodies; and picking him up on the return trip if he found a hospitable welcome. If this didn't go well, it would be one hell of a long walk to catch up with them instead.

The house looked friendly and well lived in, the bucolic surroundings deceptively quiet and deserted. The property immediately adjacent to it seemed to have a little bit of everything planted there, young fruit and nut trees dotting the roadside and several rows of grape stakes supporting a healthy clutch of vines.

When he paused to silence the crunch of his boot steps, the only sound was the chatter of sparrows. He could almost believe that the troubles of the world never found their way to this innocent patch of rural countryside.

If this was the right place, nothing could be further from the truth.

The neighboring plot indeed matched the described 'specialty gardens'. When he drew close enough to see the small sign in the window, simply stating "Automail Services by Appointment Only", there could be no doubt.

This was the Rockbell residence for sure.

With a deep breath, he mounted the steps to the front porch, ending up at the wooden door with hat in hand. His strategy hinged on a surprise entrance, getting a foot in the door and talking fast. Beyond that, he was going to wing it and do everything in his power to accomplish his mission.

It was almost too quiet.

"Well, here goes nothing,' he said to himself, rapping loudly on the sturdy door and standing just close enough to stay out of view, concealing the telltale blue of his uniform from the shuttered front windows.

xxxxx

It was frustrating to watch Ed concentrating so fiercely on the meal sitting right next to him and yet never make a move to eat any of it. Perhaps as Havoc had suggested, Ed was struggling with it, starting to fight his resistance to taking in nourishment. They'd tried so many things to coax him, trick him, order him, right up to the current threat of force-feeding by shoving a tube into his stomach through his nose. Ultimately, it was one of the few things the damaged soul had retained control of up until now. The tube would trump that. Maybe they had finally hit on a threat devastating enough to make him question the wisdom of his behavior.

He'd decided not to intervene, and to let Ed work out the food issue a little longer if that was indeed what he was doing. Beyond that, the Major wasn't sure if he should try to draw Ed out or let him have his space until the doctor came as Havoc recommended. His instincts leaned evenly in both directions; by default he chose to leave things as they were, sitting by quietly and undecided, nearly a match for Ed's silent, tightly-coiled stare.

Those amber eyes were shimmering with the glare that invaded through the doorway from the hallway's bright windows. Once they twitched his way, but settled again in the other direction before he could speak to try and hold that brief turn of attention. At least he felt a little more assured that Ed knew he was here if he was needed.

Ed was concentrating fiercely on keeping the image on the table locked down, but it kept getting away. That bowl, and the tray it sat on, should have left by now. It was still here, poised just inches away from his face when he rested on his side. He could reach out and touch it with little effort - but the very thought made him shiver. It was a friend that had offered it to him last…but who here could have filled it up like that? The orderly maybe, when he didn't notice, when he was behind him…the contents roiled and grew and slowly oozed down the face of the bowl until he squeezed his eyes shut and refocused. When he looked again, it wasn't overflowing. It wasn't even quite full; from his prone position he couldn't see for sure what was in it now, so he pushed up to sit and keep a better watch over it.

The Major was ignoring it, acting as if everything was fine. That fact bounced all over his mind, fat with possibilities, but there was no way to sort out the true meaning of the massive soldier's behavior now. His own focused will was the only weapon he had to come up with to combat this so far.

Even thinking of a way to reach out for the Major's help caused too much of a distraction; he had to accept that the only way to hold this back was one on one with no letup. It was exhausting already, and if anything, the aura of threat felt stronger and larger than before. He wasn't winning. By his fingertips, with all his effort, he was barely holding it at bay. His throat tightened with fear at the realization that he would soon be outmatched. The fear itself was a distraction, adding to his burden, thinning his power even more. When he shut his eyes and squeezed them hard to concentrate, it felt like pushing on a brick wall. He could barely force it back into its original form again.

Damn, he'd become so weak, he'd allowed his strength to wear down to nothing. But if it wouldn't stop or go away, he couldn't afford to, either. For a few moments his wide, unblinking eyes watched the bowl behave normally, and it just started to give him hope that the thing had run its course.

Then the liquid revived and started to swell again. The expansion grew, a little faster than before, until it gushed thick red rivulets over the side of the bowl, bubbling up and flowing to form darker pools on the tray; he shut his eyes tight again and concentrated fiercely to force the scene to rewind.

The already short periods where the foul liquid behaved were dwindling further each time the struggle replayed, locked in a grueling loop that only his eyes could see.

_tbc_


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Edward's concentrated effort to suppress the escape of the red matter was diverted by a new image materializing in the periphery. The tall, thin silhouette that arrived in the doorway broke their suspension in time. The Major responded swiftly to perform his security check.

Ed had spared only a second to shift his focus and recognize the man as somewhat of a friend as opposed to a foe; but a heartbeat of distraction was still too much. Once it was confirmed that the newcomer wasn't a greater threat, he snapped straight back to his task only to see that he had lost the upper hand. The delicate balance of suppression had been fumbled, allowing the swiftly spreading crimson to escape well beyond his control. The tray was overflowing, the spill radiating to the edges of the side table and cascading off to form a growing pool on the floor. He gaped as it spread with so much speed and determination that it seemed to have a life of its own; where it touched the wall, it defied gravity to stream upward again.

The vague scent of blood grew stronger, the familiar odor too strong to deny. The scene refused to return to normal, despite shaking his head, blinking hard and refocusing several times. The fragile faith that he was just seeing things began to crumble under the overwhelming flood of evidence. He fought to understand and deal with it without giving in to the resulting swell of blind panic.

x

After patiently submitting to his identity check, Dr. Gansworth paused in the doorway, nodding as the Major filled him in on Havoc's description of Ed's morning. With lowered voices, they kept their conversation just out of the young man's earshot.

"Thank you Major, that's consistent with what my staff has reported; I did talk to both of them. I'm hearing quite a change in his behavior in between their two visits. The Lieutenant isn't around? I'd like to get his observations first hand, see if I can learn a little more."

"I believe that he's returned to his usual station."

"I'll catch him later, then. I need to go by there next, anyway. So you say that you haven't been able to communicate at all?"

"No, sir. He's just been staring off."

"I see. Well, let's get on with it, then."

Armstrong turned his huge body and moved aside, no longer needed as a sound wall to keep their exchange private.

"Edward, sorry I'm late. How are you doing today?" the doctor asked, settling into the chair to prepare for a lengthy stay. It seemed to be situated quite a bit further away from the bedside than it had been, but he decided to delay moving it closer until things got underway.

He readied his clipboard and poised his pen, expecting that he would need to do some serious digging to get Ed drawn out enough to participate in the session. He put a positive spin on Ed's reported unresponsiveness, just to gauge his reaction.

"I wanted to thank you, by the way, for being so cooperative this morning. It makes it much easier on my staff. And for you as well, I hope."

Gansworth noticed the full lunch tray, now gone cold, and made a few quick notes. The orderlies had reported that the morning meal had been refused as well, and described the incident with the hard nutrition bar. He had to be diligent in documenting this sort of thing in particular; the Colonel still needed help grasping the necessity of getting the feeding tube established.

Since he didn't get a reply, he looked up to start analyzing the visual cues from the face of his patient, the first time he'd really done so since entering the room.

He wasn't prepared to see such an agitated mix of emotions on someone so still and quiet. He watched as Ed's attention unlocked from the bedside table and turned to his own arm. He began to scrape at the back of his automail hand, as if it itched. His expression was quite grim, and it didn't change when he was addressed.

Ed was highly interactive with whatever was causing him concern, but had yet to even acknowledge his doctor's presence.

"Edward?"

Ed scraped harder and furrowed his brow without reaction to the question. He raised the automail high, anxiously examining the underside and abruptly running his hand over the surface.

"Major?" Gansworth asked expectantly. "Does this activity mean something?"

"I'm afraid that I don't know. Lt. Havoc didn't report anything like this; I think it just started. Edward, what is it? Is there something wrong with your prosthesis?"

Ed startled and looked down at his chest. He held his arms away from his body and jumped to his feet, turning and taking a step closer to the brighter light reflecting up from the polished floor of the hallway.

"He needs to stay inside the room right now," Gansworth said quietly, because it did kind of look like Ed might be gravitating towards the door. "Especially while he's not responding to us."

The Major nodded in understanding. He reached out to touch Ed's arm and got his first reaction.

"No, don't," Ed whispered in awe. "You're getting it on you."

The red-rimmed amber eyes were only partially-focused; he appeared to be confused and slightly shocked as he spoke. Obviously, he was seeing something more than they were.

"But I'm not getting anything on me. Not that I'm aware of."

Ed shivered and swept his hands down his chest. The room itself seemed to be alarming him now, and he ducked down when he looked up at the ceiling.

"How?" he gasped, eyes widening as they swept the room. "So much, so fast…"

"What is it, Ed? Tell me, please." Gansworth touched Ed's shoulder and he dodged away.

"Don't! You…now look! You, too! It's your own fault!" Ed's voice was strained and uneven as he pointed at them with a shaking hand. He looked from them to his hand and turned it to gape at his open palm. "This isn't right. It can't all be mine. Can it?"

"Your what? I don't understand. Please, tell me…"

"You think this…this is…this is all right with you? It's all right with you? What the hell? Uh! Shit!" He drove a pair of automail fingers into his mouth in a digging motion. "Ugh!"

"Major, do you know what he's trying to do here?" Gansworth asked with growing concern.

"I have no idea. Edward, please… we don't know what you're so upset about. I assure you, everything is fine." Armstrong stepped closer and his hand hovered.

"Ah, not in my mouth. Gah…"

"I don't see anything in your mouth but the automail. Ed, stop, you're going to injure yourself."

Ed froze for a moment, then resumed his digging, gagging harshly.

"Intervene _now_, Major! Contain him from harming himself." Gansworth hovered, controlling the urge to step in himself. Ed was already upset, any physical restraint was best addressed by someone he'd established trust with.

Memories of the incident in the library flashed in the Major's mind; how the boy had jammed the automail into his own throat with frightening force. He clamped his hand around the unnatural wrist and muscled it away to prevent any chance of a repeat of that night. Spittle clung to the metal in thin strings; Ed let it trail down his chin unnoticed.

"Don't see anything. You said you don't see anything?" Ed gasped in confusion. "Ah!" He sputtered, trying to spit, but if anything his mouth was growing dry now. "It's everywhere!"

"Calm down now, you're getting overwrought." Dr. Gansworth's hand moved to his hip as he rose and started forward, only to stop and curse inwardly at his decision not to wear his coat. He'd left the vial of sedative in its deep pocket in his rush to make up for being late. Now if he couldn't talk Ed down, he'd likely have to make the Major restrain his patient while he went to retrieve it.

The Major maintained his grip carefully, moving and giving with the automail's twists and turns to prevent pulling and injuring the supporting muscles. He suspected that a stronger hold would also result in harder resistance and possibly panic.

"No! No! No!" Ed yelped with each attempt to break free.

"I want you to tell me what's wrong! Edward! Stop fighting the Major, let him help you. That's what we're here for. " Gansworth grimaced and touched the burly alchemist's free arm, leaning close to speak privately. "I'll need to fetch some medication if this doesn't turn around fast. You'll have to hold here him until I get back."

Armstrong nodded tightly, gravely distressed over the uncontrolled situation. The mess had escalated so suddenly that now he'd left their backs exposed, an inexcusable mistake for a man of his experience. Anyone could enter the room right now before he could safely stop and I.D. them; and the restraining hold he'd have to place on Ed in order to deal with them would blow what little self-control the boy was exercising into dust.

He kept his attention divided, handling Ed as best he could while keeping the doorway in sight and analyzing the doctor's actions for anything that might indicate a suspicious motive, heeding the Colonel's warning to trust no one. Coming here for a session with Ed without bringing that sort of medication was unusual, questionable behavior. He decided not to ask the Doctor to request back-up, unsure of the wisdom of pointing out security flaws to him while at such a disadvantage.

xxxxxx

Ed's desperate hope that he was just dreaming or imagining things finally snapped completely when the last few 'normal' sections of the room disappeared under the invasive crimson flow. The familiar faces of the two men were fully concealed, unrecognizable under a featureless coating of slowly congealing gore.

Pain was increasing sharply along with his growing awareness of the countless open wounds covering his body. Despite the unrealistic amount and gravity-defying pattern of the invasion, he dismally conceded that the blood had to be his own, that his circumstance was as grave as it appeared.

He wracked his brain in a fruitless attempt to figure out how this could have happened without any warning. It must have been that guy in the white coat, that stranger who changed the sheets and cleverly stayed too far away to reveal his scent. Havoc had let him get behind him where he couldn't see. Ever since he left, the elements of this had been forming.

So he'd set it all up and left…or did he? Maybe he never did leave. There wasn't any way to identify the callous, nearly shapeless beings before him now, slopping around casually, covered in his lost lifeblood and denying that it was anything to worry about.

Shapeless or shape shifting? Yes, shape shifting, that clicked. He'd been here, done this before, and now it made some sense. It was happening again, or more likely it was still happening - and it may have been mere illusion that he had ever been rescued.

Whichever the case, it didn't matter. Despite the disjointed information his senses were reporting, he put together enough of his situation to strike fear in his heart. At this moment his enemies had him in their grasp, and the games were on again. An overwhelming flush of horror and humiliation permeated every cell of his body when the realization hit, further evidence that he was snared in their trap.

Somehow they'd resumed the invasion of his body, gaining control without his seeing or feeling it. His mind leap-frogged from one explanation to another, trying feverishly to cope and understand. Breathing was difficult with that disgusting mass clogging his throat, but if they thought they could make him swallow it, they were dead wrong. Not again, fuck that, anything was better than this and where it led.

The blood was filling his mouth too quickly to spit out, choking his labored breath. The sheer volume of it, the speed with which it had oozed everywhere, still skirted his terror with a challenge to the certainty about what he was seeing. But he felt it, smelled it, squirmed in dismay as it covered his body and soaked his clothes with a slick yet sticky, viscous weight. He writhed in an irresistible urge to crawl out of his skin to get it off of him and get away.

His gut told him it was unavoidable now, just as it had been before; it was already covering him on the outside, even as it emptied from his insides. He was completely at the mercy of beings that were highly contemptuous of mercy, never to escape alive. His aim wasn't to get away, and he couldn't afford to stop this too soon, even if he somehow could. This had been…or was it still?…necessary, to provide the sick entertainment that would distract the ghouls from looking for Alphonse; but as long as it was sufficient, as long as it kept them laughing and jeering and focused on him, that was what mattered.

Damn, he'd somehow lost sight of his whole purpose until just this moment. To distract them from hunting Al he had set himself up as the sacrifice, the cornered fox - his mission was to live as long as possible while suffering through this fortuitously spectacular, attention-riveting ordeal.

He couldn't control his own struggling, but his mind set that aside as unimportant now. They enjoyed the idea that he was still fighting and harboring some hope of survival while they played God and toyed with his life, so it was fine. But he needed to stay aware of what was happening even if he was helpless to act, and his effort to watch for their next move just provided more conflicting feedback from his surroundings.

The mess was getting thick enough on the crimson-drenched ceiling that it was starting to form dripping, cone-shaped stalactites of gore. It splattered into the surreal rising tide on the floor, sending droplets up to speckle the facial areas of the two things standing before him, dimpling the surface before disappearing into the wet coating they were already sporting. They didn't seem to react or be aware at all.

This thing…they were doing to him now…was difficult to grasp while fighting his own blinding fear for control of his faculties. There was horrible pain but it didn't relate to any actions they were taking. They seemed to have lost interest in escalating the physical abuse; they hadn't even been taunting verbally or taking any perverted, degrading liberties to humiliate him. Was this really still happening now? Every so often his airway would clear for a few seconds, and he was able to hear that the beings were making noises that were low and placating instead of raucous and threatening.

Memory, mirage and reality tumbled in his head again and called up another round of doubts about his situation. He had clothes on, and there was his automail - the leg was still attached, and his arm was still functional - none of those things matched his newly revived memories. They had been nearly out of control with anger during his re-capture, stripping him completely before twisting off the one limb and smashing the other to eliminate the chance of a second escape.

This place had the outlines of ceiling, walls, furniture…before, it had been outdoors. Outside. Patterned with wires and towering trees and barbed hooks and artful splashes of blood; and above it all the sky, the bright and blue sky laced with the last of the clearing clouds, a lie of normalcy haloing Envy's rotten face as it lowered onto his, paging chameleon-like through the images of the people he once trusted.

This was inside now, so he was wrong, it wasn't quite the same feeling, it really was a different point in time…too late in fact…that's right, that meant it was too late to save his little brother. He'd failed. Now, in the second match, they didn't hold that trump over him. Maybe there wasn't any cause left to live or die for now. He didn't have to stop himself from severing his wrist this time, but damn them, this time they hadn't used the wires.

The wires, the wires…there weren't any restraints or ligatures…just hands. Wet, bloody hands waiting to clutch his wrists when he dared to move his arms.

Blood tainted everything when he tried to draw in his next breath, thickening in his throat so quickly it made him gag again. The harder he tried to spit out the clotting glob the more it grew, until he was clawing furiously to get free, out of control and retching, unable to keep his feet or get his bearings. He broke loose and his soiled visitors jumped to intercept him; with that sudden move, their humanoid forms shimmered and revealed a momentary glimpse of the monsters beneath.

Anger seared in his chest. He wanted always to fight back and now there was no reason not to, but his tormentors hadn't revealed themselves until they had him gripped too tightly to escape - just like before. This had been unbearable, unforgivable, nearly impossible to survive the first time, and now it was happening again? It was not, not, NOT going to happen again the same way, and even if they tried a million ways, he absolutely refused to swallow no matter what. He would control his body this time no matter how impossible. He would die first if that's what it took, and now that was a viable option.

He conceded that he was probably done for anyway, something of this magnitude had to be the final climax. This was far more blood than he remembered, back when they'd strung him up with the wires and there had been so much blood then he was nearly certain that he could not survive. This, this was a hundred times more.

"I won't! Fuck you!" he screamed, the words strangling in the strain to get clear of his throat. He only succeeding in heaving up bile from his empty stomach. His blood pressure was spiraling up to the point of dimming his vision, adding to the difficulty of perceiving the enemy's next moves.

They wouldn't let him go and their images kept shifting, just as expected. The two seemed to reduce to just one when the fight between them slowed to a momentary halt. They were doing a good job, changing up tactics to trick him, almost making him question his sanity when they used gentle pressure instead of blows to bring him back off his feet. They were making so many uncharacteristic mistakes, posing clumsily as allies, cooing comforting lies yet pretending not to notice that he was bleeding to death. It started up his doubts again and angered him that he should even have to question what was going on. To hell with them, to hell with the idea that this was dreaming, they couldn't fool him over and over and expect him to pander to their sick delight in watching him suffer forever.

His next attempt to curse merely produced retching and choking. Surprisingly, the sharp blows delivered to his back in response weren't painful. But they were getting nearer all the while, those seemingly innocuous and helpful swats were gradually making their way closer to the cavernous wound that was the showpiece of their inhuman abuse to his body.

This was it, then, it was true - they were taking this right back where he knew they would, even though he was already a dead man. It didn't sway him from his last commitment.

He wouldn't swallow it for them this time. Ever.

The single demon separated into twins again and they were both on him now, manipulating his position in a different way. The familiar pinch to the inside of his arm sent icy fear clear down to his soul. If they gave him something to disable him, they might be able to force it down his throat. They might. The thought was unbearable.

His cry, broken and desperate, accompanied his renewed valiant attempt to break free. They worked in concert against him, both arms held and his forehead trapped in the crook of a rigid elbow, the back of his head firmly pinned against a sturdy organic mass. He fought with eyes closed tight, focusing himself inward to battle the drug as well.

The escape attempt failed. The medication was sapping his muscle tension significantly, and his resistance didn't present much of a challenge. It was already disassembling and reforming his reality in segments, faster than he would have expected, preventing him from getting his thoughts into a defensible hold.

His organic awareness was returning as his thoughts slowed, and his body's sensory input of his true physical surroundings started to sharpen, bringing him enough conflicting information to initiate the process of re-entry from his trip to hell. The hands that gripped his wrists were firm but not painfully tight, a human arm used minimal force to keep his head at rest against a sturdy chest that was rising and falling rapidly to catch its breath.

Human arm. Because there was no foul homunculus stench. As totally confusing as that realization was, he clung to it with weary hope, because his strength was fading.

When he stopped fighting they moved him again. His face was pushed down on cloth, and it felt dry to his cheek as more of the feeling returned to it, but when he dared to open his eyes a crack they still told him he was buried in an inch of blood on the mattress.

His hand was released and he swept it to his back, searching. The hole was there, that piece of his body was gone…but it felt dry. Healed.

It was the source of all this, it couldn't be dry. It should be mauled raw, a gaping, ragged hole from the vicious theft of his flesh. His fingers worried at it desperately, trying to force it to give him the answers.

His tactile senses feverishly reported everything, heightened after release from the hallucination, leaving his mind to fall back in on itself, unable to explain the schism between his body and psyche.

Eyes closed again, his excited brain cells finally grasped the answer - this was not imagination, or nightmare, or real-time attack; it was a resurrected scene from the past. Properly identified for what it was, his defenses lost the fight to suppress it, releasing the balance of the buried memory in exquisite sensory-rich detail, vibrating his body with the exact sensations of sight, sound, smell and agony.

The replay was crisp and flawless. Envy had devoured his meat in full view, shape-shifting through his full repertoire of familiar faces to demonstrate each one's unique style in partaking of the feast, with exaggerated animalistic manners, disgusting noises and obscene pleasure. That was, until he got to Al's armored likeness. He paused and apparently changed his mind about attributing the coup de grace to the metal face - it still was not good enough.

Eyes pinned open and unable to look away - pain was just background noise, after so much for so long; the images were doing much more damage now - there was no escaping Envy's face when it took its own features back and approached him with a serious, unwavering stare. His obscenely wide mouth moved deliberately, emphasizing the sight and sound of his chewing. Ed prepared to watch him swallow and battled his fear over which body part the ghoul would choose to devour next.

But Envy kept mouthing his prize, growing closer until Ed's nose burned with his stench. A grin lit up the colorless face, highlighting the saliva-thinned blood oozing from behind the jagged teeth. Then he closed his eyes and leaned forward to cover Ed's mouth with his own, grinding their faces softly together, gaining entrance to his captive's mouth despite his best effort against it. His throaty laugh flaunted the ease with which he dominated the struggle and returned the last globs of the ravaged, mutilated flesh to its owner in a grotesque parody of a lover's kiss.

Edward was exhausted, beaten, shell-shocked - he hadn't had a prayer of mustering the strength to stop it, that late in the game. Still, he pushed himself to fight with every ounce of his strength, making the defeat that much harder to take when Envy's lips sealed over his, and the fiend's iron grip pulled his clenched jaws apart to deliver his partially masticated treat back to its source. The monstrous, snake-like tongue worked the mass too far back into his throat to allow breath. He bit hysterically into that vile, disgusting appendage in his desperation to stop the act, to no avail. His pitiful human teeth couldn't inflict any damage; it merely burned him like fire and assaulted his senses with its rotten, moldy taste.

Envy pinched his nose shut lightly in the process, patiently prevented him from breathing, waiting with amusement for him to swallow like a good boy. Despair clutched his heart as he approached his limit, fighting to ignore the pain searing his lungs. Envy's lips rumbled against his with a giggle of impending victory.

His body's instincts overwhelmed his self-control in the convulsive attempt to get air. The thick lump had to be choked down again and again as revulsion forced it back up. The will of his butcher prevailed with the help of his traitorous body, swallowing repeatedly to propel it back down until it finally stayed down. It delighted Envy into near ecstasy. The monster finished off by licking Ed's face seductively, as much to enjoy the reaction as to keep the spattered bits from going to waste. That image, icy and clear, slowed and nearly froze, as if it the show was finally over. And yet, the knowing grin that came next on his captor's face blasted him with the certainty that this, still, had not been the end of it.

Loosening up now, his memory was supplying still more detail, filling out the scene. Others had been there because he clearly heard them cheering, laughing and groaning, shouting companionable taunts at Envy as he did his worst. One of them had begged to participate, sometimes whining, sometimes angry, demanding a bite, pleading for just a taste.

And a woman's voice, deep with amusement and power, denied the beggar permission each time, cryptically criticizing that he would take too much, and it wasn't allowed for this life to end just yet. She had called him…a sacrifice. That confused him now, as it had then.

Only Envy passed in and out through his captive line of vision. Despite his effort to squirm and twist to look in the direction of the voices, he still couldn't see them. But judging from Envy's reactions, he wasn't just hearing things. They were there somewhere behind him. And at the point where his tormentor had finished and grinned in his face, he heard one or more of them stepping forward to join in, growing closer into view.

The sense of what came next began to stir up the mire deeper in repression; the face of a second and third homunculus threatened to take shape. It touched off a tornado of backlash; tripping his mind's defenses to stop the progression of reviving memory cold at the first hint of it. The resurrection of his memory slammed into reverse to eliminate any possibility that it might uncover the next turn of events. Reeling from the sudden cessation of brutal experiences, his true surroundings began flooding back into his senses in real-time again.

_It was somewhere else, another time_, he babbled to himself mentally, clutching for relief. _Go back to that thought, hold on to it. don't lose it again, don't slide back into that memory again. Walls. The walls are proof. If something bad is happening now, it can't be as bad as what was. No matter how bad it is, this has to be better._

Ed embraced that unsteady flash of perspective, afraid that it would prove to be an illusion as well. His heart was clawing to find more complete release from immersion in the past. He desperately wanted to believe that what was happening now was not the same thing as being in the midst of actual acts of torture, but he couldn't bring himself to rely on his own contradictory senses yet. The world reeled from the effort to take in yet another set of new details, and the rapid changes from his mind's struggle to stay in one piece by dancing him in and out of reality. It was hard to determine if wishful thinking had simply taken over now without regard to his safety, pandering to him with the perceptions of finding sanctuary at the risk of lulling him into becoming a wide open target.

Chemically amplified, his physical exhaustion was finally slowing his spasmodic, racing heart and shaking loose his agonizingly clenched stomach and throat.

It did nothing to slow the revulsion and helpless sense of violation. The ghost of Envy's cold, suggestive laugh echoed every time he started to let down, prevented him from relaxing, polluting his trust and struggle for sanity. The memories were fresh and vivid, as if it had just happened. The impact of the experience held him shattered and breathlessly fragile.

His body was getting left behind in the fray, nearly immobilized by medication and out of balance with his racing mind. Disjointed impressions refused to match up, and kept him hovering just out of the relative safety of the present. The remembered pain was still sharp, dulling his senses to the attempts to get his attention with words and touch.

With a little more time the waking nightmare grew unsteady and lost substance, each glimpse he chanced to take confirmed that he was inside his room, but he didn't let his guard down. There was the memory, which was not so safely in the past, and the present, where he was in nearly as bleak of a situation, which was changing in his vision again. The more innocuous surroundings slipping into his awareness might be real; until his guard was allowed to drop, it made no difference. The struggle became pointlessly weak and slowed to a stop; where did he expect to escape to when he was so unsure about where he was and what was going on?

Hearing returned to sudden clarity, without warning, making him aware of how distorted it had been up until now. He cried out but managed to hush himself when that split-second of dread was unfounded; there was no cackling of homunculi audience to be heard.

It was the Major's voice that had broken the barrier, and it was slowly tuning in to form words, but he didn't want to respond yet. It weighed in favor of the evidence that this really was his room, a relatively protected place. Eyes closed again, he perched on a pinhead of belief that his situation might not be as bad as it seemed, and he was reluctant to move or seek any more input, clinging to the momentary calm. The Major would protect him, he could believe in that. If it truly was the Major. Damn, he cursed himself for remembering that he couldn't be sure without checking, and he made a wild swing from relief back to red alert again.

The drug kept eroding his concentration now that he'd identified the risks, and implications of being treated so carefully frightened him even more. If they had him again, they were successfully manipulating him into dropping his guard. His eye started to open and he slammed it shut. When his attention waned, he caught himself listening again, and leaning into the seemingly kind hands, instead of wisely hiding from them. From one moment to the next, he believed he was safe, then at mortal risk, then safe again. It made his head spin with instability.

The Major's deep voice finally prevailed, making a connection that pulled him back into slight coherence and tipped the scales in favor of safety. The pain from the memory softened until it was just that now, memory. His body ached dully in the usual way, and a severe shoulder cramp was being massaged out expertly. Someone had his wrist, not to restrain it, but to take his pulse.

The illogical conviction that he had lost gallons upon gallons of blood left him confused and awed that he could still be breathing. It wasn't possible. But he had seen all the blood, in this very room, with his own two eyes today. Maybe they were right about him after all. Insanity was the only explanation his battered brain could come up with.

He nervously let those eyes open a crack and then shut them again. Some blood was still there, not much, not rivers of it, but there was scattered evidence of it. It wasn't dripping from the ceiling anymore; the acoustical tiles were once again a dull, faded gray and curiously unstained. The walls were not coated, only tiny splatters here and there. But it continued to smear the floors and darken the bedcover, and the mattress; and it still mottled the clothes of the Major and the Doctor.

Now it was more of a curiosity than a fright. And it was a little bothersome, because it was sticky between his finger and toes. He reached across to try and pinch some of it off of his flesh hand with the automail, the mechanisms pretty much the only body parts he could move usefully, and the Doctor's soiled hand intervened. He took a chance and moved to bring the intruding arm closer to his face. No odor. The relief came out in a moan and flattened him. The Major caught the significance of the exchange and brought his hand up too. That added to his relief a hundred times over.

"It's us, son. It's okay now."

Ed looked up again, weary and dulled from fighting to stay alert, still slipping from the drug but not hitting bottom yet. They really were his allies, that felt so much better, they wouldn't take advantage of his weakened state. He couldn't understand why they would want to stand there like that, bloody smears on their faces and hands, and not even mind. They weren't even doing anything much, just hovering over him. They could easily take a moment to wash themselves up. It was beyond him to ponder their thoughts any further.

The Major brought a cup to his dry lips and he clamped them shut. It looked like water, but it had a red tint. The tint seemed to be reflected from the bloody bedcovers and the liquid was probably clear, but he didn't trust it, couldn't be sure. Something else might get in his mouth if he opened it. He didn't want to swallow anything, and his guts clenched in solidarity with that sentiment.

The Doctor was bargaining with him, luring him into listening to the possibility that things weren't actually as he saw them at the moment.

Dizzy from the medication, he kind of believed them. It was lining up with the conclusions he was already arriving at. If he would talk they promised they would take the cup away for a while.

He told them through clenched teeth that they had been completely covered in blood. And that no matter what happened, he wouldn't swallow it. They assured him that he would not have to, and the world slowed down a little more, easing the tension bit by bit.

The strain of breathing so hard for so long had made his left lung ache and tighten, and he was able to communicate his distress now. The doctor hovered apprehensively, the cold stethoscope touched to his ribs assessing the pitch of his wheezing. There was a pause in the questioning until the symptom subsided.

He was dulled enough now to respond, as best he could pull his thoughts together, when Dr. Gansworth started asking questions.

"What was happening, Edward? What were you seeing?"

Blood, there wasn't much to explain about the blood. But that wasn't the worst part. It wasn't the worst of what he was choking on. He'd been choking on himself. His own body. There were monsters and they made him do it. He said it six different ways, and still it seemed to be lost on them. The motor control to get the words out was just about shot. The energy to keep trying was pretty much overspent. Things were getting softer and dimmer, and the motivation to keep responding was fading away.

The probing series of questions didn't always hit on the right angles, and the patient's answers didn't seem coherent - until the light went on. The doctor finally took the responses, which at first seemed hysterical and without reason, and put them together in a lightning strike of understanding. He repeated his revelations as he put them together - the new details of the cannibalism and Edward's forced participation - and turned an odd sort of gray when his conclusion was confirmed.

The Major was shaken; the more he heard, the more he'd prayed that he'd misunderstood. He had to dig into his deepest inner strength to maintain his calm, resolved to stand fast and maintain a reassuring manner to let the traumatized young man see that everything was going to be all right.

It was extremely difficult to pull off. It was as if the incident had just occurred before him. If only it actually had, and he had been there to defend against it - the anger against their cruel enemy flamed up unexpectedly, giving him a fresh boost of energy and strength. With a touch that was meant to communicate his support and care, he placed his hand in Ed's open relaxed palm, ever so lightly so that Ed could pull away easily if he had that reaction.

Ed felt his touch and used all his awareness and strength to trace the sensation with his eyes, taking in the hand and blue sleeve, then following the sleeve up to the broad shoulder, seeking the face. The background distracted him on the way. Blood was still there in the last glimpse Ed got of his controlled environment; the medication was still taking him out of consciousness just slightly ahead of its ability to completely resolve his break with reality. Instead of pulling his hand away, he just managed to push it forward enough for his fingertips to reach the well-worn uniform sleeve and take a feeble hold. He had most of his perceptions of the Major in agreement now, the voice and the visual confirming the physical evidence that he had found the security of holding on to his protector again. The Major's eyes, so huge and so blue, widened even more, contrasted by the smears of dark red soiling his face. A diluted line traced though the crimson from the corners of his eyes down to his massive jaw, as if tears had made a path through the drying blood there.

That sight caused Ed's mouth to turn down in a sympathetic frown. Whatever kind of nightmare this was, it was wrong to involve others in it too deeply. He never wanted to make anyone else suffer, and now that he had no little brother to save, he had no right to ask anyone to help him. He tried in vain to find his voice again, to reassure everyone that they would be all right, that they should abandon him if things got out of hand again. He alone deserved punishment on this scale. But his body had reached its limit in fighting off the tranquilizer, ending the struggle as the pull of merciful, dreamless sleep finally claimed him.

Silence filled the room and the two men sat stunned, watching the rhythm of breathing deepen, unable to look away until well after Ed's face became peaceful and relaxed.

xxxxxx

When Gansworth had first entered Edward's room, he was a little preoccupied, something he should have known better than to allow. His research into torture victims and post-traumatic stress had energized him with cautious optimism and a different perspective on the path his therapy should be taking. His mind was on getting into the session itself, how he would overcome the reported withdrawn state and work his patient into in, how far he should consider probing this early in the game. He didn't stop and get a really good look at the young man first thing. That was a huge, huge mistake.

Gansworth supposed that he might never know what had triggered the episode. Ed was already provoked, and he'd taken the bit in his teeth and bolted with the session before it even started. He took it so much further, so much faster than Gansworth had planned that there was no predicting whether this exposure would be beneficial or damaging in the overall progress of his recovery.

It had certainly done no good as far as the doctor/patient relationship was concerned. They had not established enough trust yet, the relationship was not solid enough for Ed to automatically look to him for guidance or support. In the grip of the event he had even suffered a break in his reliance on the Major, his most trusted caretaker. It sent him treading alone and out of reach into whatever he was perceiving; without the scrap of hard-won tether the therapist had been forging to control his eventual touch down on the unfamiliar ground of soul-crushing buried traumas. Worse still, if the event was triggered by sudden recall there would be little hope of providing him with support in time to soften the impact of the raw, caustic experiences of the past.

It was imperative to guide him back safely to the present as quickly as possible in spite of those obstacles.

The behavior was unmistakably schizoid; Ed was looking wide eyed around the room, seeing something or someone that was extremely alarming, although in fact there was nothing was out of the ordinary.

It was an internal event that unfolded in a variety of external behaviors. When the young man began struggling and hurting himself, vomiting and cursing, the sprint that had to be taken back down the hall to retrieve his coat and the sedative from his office seemed to take forever. Another mistake. He would have to do better than this from now on. Out of the hospital, Ed was even more of a challenge, requiring more planning, forethought and attention to detail; they were learning that the hard way right now.

It was with great relief that he noted a measure of returning lucidity after administering the drug. He had no intention of probing further into the hallucination at first, hoping for calm and a smooth return to the present. But then it began to make a little sense, the partial story Ed's cries were painting. It dovetailed with the new knowledge he had of conditions such as Edward's; the boy was, after all, not mentally ill. He was psychologically injured, a difference that didn't seem to be significant until he fully grasped the truth of it through his studies. And if the associated medical research could be relied on, Ed was not likely to be spinning imaginary realities. He was dealing with uncontrolled flashbacks and repressed experiences, and he likely sensed on some level that he was out of synch with his true situation. The broken expressions of fear and disgust did sound more like memories than imagination, despite their unbelievable nature; while this opportunity was ripe, the gaps were practically begging to be filled in.

It was the boy's obsessive pawing at the scar on his back that helped put it all together. The breathless words connected with the story Gansworth had already heard from the Colonel, the explanation for the large deformity created by the huge wound he'd treated so long ago. That memory would be violent, gory and disturbing, and in theory could easily bring on an event such as this when it re-emerged.

But the emphasis on not swallowing was compelling. He knew Ed was reluctant to swallow anything, and it seemed to key in with the behavior here. Was it because of the event , or just an aversion that he had anyway, amplified by his distress over the attack, perhaps a connection with knowing that his enemy had indeed eaten his flesh? Exposing the root cause was vitally important.

So he did ask some questions, after all. And the response wasn't really on target, so he asked another way. It sounded like Ed was saying that he had cooperated in the attack. That didn't add up.

But no…of course he wasn't saying that he had helped the enemy; but he had done something with them in relation to the wound on his back.

It involved a kiss by his captor. Something had been forced into his throat. The conclusion he jumped to at that point was false. This assault turned out to be anything but sexual.

It dawned on him that whatever was forced down his throat would likely be the same thing his captor was feasting on.

It hit Gansworth like a fist to the gut. He restated the question twice, as gently as was possible for such a heinous concept. From the answers, there was no longer any doubt. They now knew what had stripped Edward of his appetite, and no doubt was responsible for a great deal of psychological damage.

And how his, now entirely understandable, inability to eat had come to weaken his body so dangerously despite everyone's efforts .

As disturbing as it was to contemplate the act, it was even more disturbing as a clinical problem - knowing the basis for Ed's eating disorder was not the same thing as knowing what to do about it. How could someone recover from such a thing? It wasn't like an aversion to cats or high places - the provoking circumstance of eating would be there every day, several times a day, a direct trigger for post-traumatic stress response. It was his responsibility to find a way to help Ed cope, but for the first time, he saw the possibility that too much of the damage here might be beyond reversing.

This was going to require a great deal of further research and thought.

In the meanwhile, he could only think to keep Ed as comfortable as possible, and try to center him back in the present, where he was safe, relatively well, and cared for.

When Ed finally fell into silence, the look he caught on the Major's face must surely have been a reflection of his own.

Xxxxx

By dinnertime, Havoc arrived and found Armstrong hunched in the chair next to Ed's quietly sleeping form.

The massive hand lifted to press a finger to his lips as he rose to perform the identity check. Havoc juggled his delivery to hand over his ID and whispered the pass code. He could swear that the Major had aged ten years since he saw him a few hours ago. The larger man stepped forward and placed a hand on the tray, as if deciding whether to let him bring it in.

"You can leave than here, I suppose. But it will be some time before he's likely to be waking up." Armstrong set the tray aside and motioned Havoc back to continue their conversation just outside the doorway in the hall.

"Sure, it should keep. What's up, Major? Something happen?"

"You might say that."

"Bad therapy session?"

"It went astray before the session really began. It appears that Edward's odd behavior was a result of remembering some things that were quite disturbing. Saints alive, Jean, it was something beyond my imagination. And I have seen my share of human suffering."

Havoc's only reply was a low, regretful sound in his throat. He couldn't tell if Armstrong was going to elaborate.

"I wonder if the doctor forgot to cancel that meal. I'm told he'll be out for a while."

"I can come back to help him with this later. When do you think he'll be coming around?"

"I doubt we'll even offer it, to be truthful. His phobia with eating is not some random psychological aberration from stress. You should be made aware of this."

Havoc wanted very much to help Ed. But he couldn't help the reluctance he felt, waiting to hear this. More bad news about the boys; couldn't there be something positive for a change? He set his jaw to silence his mental whining and nodded.

"He has disclosed that there was a…a biting attack on his back."

"Oh, that. I know. I mean - not to make light of it; that's ugly, ugly stuff. It's just that the Colonel already shared that with me a while back."

"So, you're aware of the cannibalistic aspect?"

"Afraid so." Havoc shifted uneasily. He hadn't asked the Colonel for details then, and unless it was helpful to Ed, he didn't particularly want to hear them now.

"In the process of that attack - apparently - at some point Ed was forced to partake as well."

"I don't follow."

"Uh." Armstrong leaned back to get a good look at Ed and make sure he was still completely out. "He was forced to share in that unholy rite."

"Wha..?"

"We gleaned the information after he became severely distressed and said something about swallowing blood. He started out going on about not being forced to consume the blood again. And then, well…Dr. Gansworth was able to get enough out of him to put it together and ask him clearly."

"Whose blood? Major, I may be a little slow, but you're not making sense."

"His own. His own blood, and his own…body. During his interrogation by the enemy, during that abomination - he was forced to participate in it somehow. He wasn't really able to discuss it, of course. The doctor and I had a difficult time figuring out what he meant at first. Edward confirmed it once Dr. Gansworth asked plainly. It's not the kind of conclusion you'd want to make in error."

"My god. You're serious. He must have been…oh, man."

"He was in a bad way. The doctor placed him under sedation. He mentioned the possibility of having to place him back on regular sedation. I really hated to hear that. It was such a challenge weaning him off of them before…"

"Yeah. If it can be avoided. But, maybe it can't be. Something like that, I mean…maybe there's just too much for him to take."

"When he wakes up we'll have a better idea. I'm concerned about the food issue, now even more than before. What little he had on his stomach was lost. He even refused water afterwards."

"That explains a lot. But…now what?"

"They were going to remove his IV tomorrow, but that has been cancelled. Now, they're running fluid into him to prevent dehydration." Armstrong shook his head. "Beyond that, the good doctor is not certain. He went to consult with the Colonel."

xxxxxx

The look on the doctor's face caused Mustang to drop his pen and half-rise from his chair.

Gansworth held out an open hand, motioning for the Colonel to stay put, and closed the door with exaggerated care so that it made no sound.

The silence was palpable as he made his way to the chair. The visit with Ed had left him rather unprofessionally stunned, and he was still reeling from the implications.

Mustang bit down on the urge to order the man to speak and gripped the edge of his desk instead, lowering himself back into the seat without relaxing a muscle.

"There has been a new development," Gansworth said, his voice straining to achieve half-volume. "Ed seems to have remembered something."

The tinny ticking of the wall clock took center stage while the doctor paused. Mustang wanted to throttle the words out of him.

"What? Something bad, I can tell."

"Yes." He removed his glasses and fished in his pocket for the soft cloth to wipe them with. It was something that helped him to gather his thoughts, usually. Today, it wasn't helping much at all.

"Well?"

"Sorry. Sorry, I know this is trying your patience. But bear with me, please, I'm still trying to get the right perspective on this. Basically, it seems that he remembered the incident - no, I should rephrase. He remembered more about the incident you related to me. About the serious injury to his back."

"Where he was bitten."

"Yes. Bitten and…he wasn't very articulate, I guess that's a foolish statement, but I mean to say that he didn't describe, or tell the story, or…"

"What the hell are you trying to say? Just tell me. What more did he remember?"

Despite the pressure from the Colonel, Gansworth took another moment to collect himself before going on. Damned if he didn't feel soiled and uncomfortable, as if he should be showering off the blood of his patient's visions before going any further. He'd taken a little time to compose himself before coming here, washing his face and hands at length to cool them - but the unclean feeling remained.

Pure nonsense, of course. He forged ahead again.

"As you said, Ed believes that his attacker actually consumed the missing area of flesh on his back. He managed to convey a few more of the details. It seems that it wasn't something that happened quickly, it was inflicted in increments, this…process. And Ed indicated that at some point, this person - this thing - mouth-fed him as well."

"Mouth-fed him…"

"As best as I can interpret, that is the story. I did repeat it to him; I re-stated it and asked if I understood correctly. He agreed."

"Mouth-fed…"

"The creature used its tongue to push matter from his injury down Edward's own throat; that is the essence of how he described it. Of course, it was an extremely disturbing thing for him to recall. It caught me off-guard, we weren't truly in session yet. The force of this emerging memory touched off some extreme hallucinations. A more schizophrenic type of reaction than we've seen in some time,"

"How is he now? Who's watching him?

"Major Armstrong is there with him. How is he? I simply don't know. Edward was sedated when this got so far out of control, of course. It didn't seem to bring him out of it completely. I'll need to be there to evaluate him when he starts to come around."

Mustang rested his forehead against the palm of his hand wearily, momentarily at a loss for a comment.

"I'm trying to develop a plan of action for this fast, Colonel. If all his memories return at once, you may need to rethink your refusal to allow him to be institutionalized. He may held up this time. But if it all starts coming back to him now, we may also see a return of that initial trauma reaction."

"Was there something that triggered it? Was the Major pushing him to eat?" Damn, he couldn't help suspecting that his decision to share his concerns with Armstrong had touched this off somehow.

"I don't know what triggered it. Nothing specific that I'm aware of. He had been refusing to eat for almost twenty-four hours prior, with one small exception," Gansworth riveted the Colonel's dark eyes with a deadly serious stare. "I am in over my head with this. I know that I said that I would try…but I also said that it might be beyond my capabilities, and with this last revelation, I'm quite sure now that it is."

"What are you saying? You're all they've got, over your head or not. If you're thinking that you have the option of pulling out…"

"I'm not quitting, Colonel. I'm telling you something important. There is no one, in my honest opinion, who would be equal to this. I'm at a loss for a plan, given this new development. I'm not optimistic as far as seeing a good result for Edward. I have to question whether pulling the younger brother into the midst of this is even conscionable. If he'd been there today, I seriously doubt that his presence would have been of much help to Ed; not with such a deep psychological wound. But the effect on Alphonse would have been devastating."

It was Mustang's turn for a moment of silence before resuming the volley of their conversation.

"Through all of that, you're telling me that he didn't withdraw?"

Gansworth blinked at the question. It was a good one. It took him aback, kicking the slats out of his conviction that Ed was in a hopeless downhill spiral.

"No. Now that you bring it up, that's extraordinary. His tendency would be to phase out when things overwhelm him. But all through this he was dealing with it in real time, fully engaged. I'm not sure what that implies."

"And right now he's resting?"

"Yes. And there's really no telling how lucid he'll be when he awakens. As I said, I plan to be there. If he's unable to regain control, if he's remembering too much too quickly, we'll need to start making some hard decisions. "

"I want to be there as well, then. The final decision on where he's housed and how he's treated will be mine."

"All right. What is the timeframe on that other - project? Will there be a conflict?"

"The retrieval is wrapping up. They won't be back today, though. Possibly early tomorrow."

"Eh, well…that's good as far as this is concerned. Although, the more time that passes, the more difficult and unpleasant that task will be."

"No definitive word on the number of victims they're transporting yet, either, I'm afraid. Communications are dicey right now. If this has any connection to the group that assaulted Fullmetal, we can't afford to let them know that we've planned autopsies or have suspicions of any kind."

"I'm over my head in that assignment as well -aren't I Colonel?"

"To your neck at the very least, but rest assured that you're not alone. Sorry, Doctor."

xxxxxx

The world returned innocently enough, invading the soft blank cocoon of sleep with a probing touch. The slight ache from his jaw was just disrupting enough that mentally rolling over and hiding wasn't going to work any longer.

Moving took significant effort, a sure sign that he had been in one position for too long. A slight pressure, warm and alive, passed over his forehead and then skipped to his shoulder, massaging the strained muscles near the automail.

Blurry blobs of subdued light swam into view, then slowly cleared up enough for him to make out the familiar outlines of his room and his lone visitor. The Major's distinct form was moving slightly, the action a bit puzzling until his hearing pulled together enough to catch the fact that the man was speaking.

When his fingertips touched the sore area along his jaw, a large hand covered his lightly.

"Easy there, lad."

"Ow," Ed breathed. "It hurts."

"I'm sorry. Let's take your hand away, shall we? Putting pressure there is going to make it feel worse." Armstrong was coiled and ready for anything as he gently closed his fingers on Ed's hand to guide it. He'd sent the alert to the Colonel and Gansworth at the first sign that Ed was coming around.

He couldn't give Ed anything for pain on an empty stomach, and damned if he was going to bring up food before the doctor arrived.

Ed's hand was trembling in his careful grip; not surprising, the Major conceded, given his lack of food, the high dosage of medication and recent traumatic episode.

"C-cold," Ed said, looking up wearily for help. He watched the Major guide his hand to rest on the thin bedcover, distantly aware that it was his own body part. The aches and cold were the squeaky wheels taking up his slowly awakening attention.

"We can do something about that. Stay right there," Armstrong scanned for any indication of restlessness or intent to move and saw neither. Still, he was quick to jump up and snag another blanket from the cabinet, swiftly getting back in arm's reach and never letting the boy out of his sight. "Here, now. Let me tuck this under."

Ed started to nod in appreciation and winced at the pain in his jaw again. "Thanks."

"There. Just hold on. Dr. Gansworth will be coming in to help you any minute." Blue eyes searched the doorway, willing the doctor to arrive, his nerves more frazzled than they had been in some time. All the time spent watching Ed sleep in artificial calm had been fraught with worry about his awakening.

The blonde's slight groan was the only thing that broke the silence. His arm slid out from under the blanket and reached out until his fingers met the familiar cloth of the blue sleeve and took hold. Armstrong felt just a bit encouraged by that and reassured Ed of his continued presence by patting and rearranging the covers.

Ed hunched up his automail arm and made that small groan again.

"Does this help?" The Major's large hands slipped under the blanket and began applying and releasing pressure around the automail connector, the way Alphonse had instructed. It worked most of time, but sometimes aggravated the problem instead of helping. Ed wouldn't always speak up if it was making things worse, so it was important to ask; but the blond head nodded slightly before sinking into the pillow again.

Armstrong detected movement in the corridor, finally, approaching rapidly but still some ways away.

"You're all right, Ed. Everything's just fine."

"Uh-huh." Ed shifted under the Major's resumed manipulation, presenting more of his shoulder for massage. "Unh. Right there."

"Here?" He dug in a little more aggressively, letting the expressive look on Ed's face guide him as to the right area and amount of pressure.

"Edward," Dr. Gansworth said cautiously, entering with slow, steady movements to minimize the impact of his presence. Behind him, the Colonel paused and remained just at the doorway, silent and watchful.

Ed squinted at them for a moment, still in the process of coming into full consciousness, concentrating more on getting the knots in his muscles tended to.

"Huh?" Ed replied drowsily.

Gansworth heaved a sigh of relief at Ed's behavior. He expected him to be subdued; no way had the medication processed out of his system this quickly; but he seemed pretty reasonable, not just out of it. "What's going on?"

" 's sore."

"Sorry to hear that. Show me where it hurts, okay?"

"Mmm." Ed motioned to the shoulder the Major was working on, and then let his fingers drift back to his chin while he worked his jaw gingerly from side to side.

"Let me have a look now." Ed allowed his jaw to be touched, and opened his mouth obediently when prompted.

That confirmed his first impression, and Gansworth was able to breathe again. The memories that had rocked him must be tucked away again. "It's just a little sore, though, right? I don't think it's anything a little time won't take care of."

Mustang shook his head, not sure. So Ed was holding his own for now…because the memories were probably suppressed again. But eventually, he'd have to work through them; until then they would hover as an ever-present threat, ready to take him down. And there was no predicting when a flashback would hit again, what the next trigger might be . With luck, at least a few weeks would pass first, and in the meanwhile, Ed would strengthen and be better able to cope.

Or perhaps it would all happen again at his next meal. The possibility would be there at every meal.

He needed to discuss this with Gansworth. But at the moment, the bespectacled physician was coaxing Ed to sip white grape juice while distracting him with simple questions.

The automail hand pushed the glass away.

"A little more, Edward. Don't you like it?"

"In a minute. I gotta go." He wriggled over to hang a leg over the edge of the bed.

"Ah-ah, no, go where?"

"You know…go."

"Oh. No, Ed. Here, let me get you the bedpan. You're not going to be steady enough yet. There's too much medication still in your…"

"I don't want to do that here. I wanna go. I can get there."

"Ed…"

Ed's leg quaked and the automail arm propped him up in a precarious position, swaying unsteadily through a failed attempt to sit all the way up.

Armstrong's hands followed his movement and hovered, ready to catch him.

"See, I…" his knee buckled; the Major stepped forward and snagged him before he slid to the floor. His look at Gansworth sought guidance; he wasn't sure whether to help Ed do as he asked, or restrain him.

"I usually lend a hand with the trip," he volunteered. Actually, Ed had to be coaxed out of the room most of the time. His insistence on going on his own to the bathroom came out of nowhere.

Gansworth looked wary. "I'm afraid I have to insist that you stay in bed until you're steady on your feet. I don't see the point in carrying you to and from the facility when the bedpan is perfectly serviceable."

"Because I'm not sick! I'm…I'm…let's just go, Major. Let's go. " In direct opposition to his words, Ed wilted and his eyes closed. "G-go…" His chin dropped heavily down on his chest.

"Hey, hey…Ed…can you look at me?" Armstrong asked. When Ed's eyes stayed shut and he got no reply, the weight in his arms grew limp. He lifted Ed back onto the bed and stepped back, giving Gansworth room to work.

"Edward." The doctor lifted his eyelids and took stock of his breathing and pulse. "He's out again. Not surprising. He's still well under the influence of the sedatives."

"It's not like him to insist on leaving his room."

"Well, with this level of sedation, his behavior isn't likely to be well thought out. The experience isn't much different than sleepwalking or being drunk. His lucidity was quite good; but take it in context. It's certainly not conclusive as far as how he'll be feeling when he's fully awake and aware."

"Will he be out for a while, then?" Mustang asked from the doorway. "I'd like to resume our talk from earlier. Privately."

xxxxx

"It's okay? You're sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Havoc sauntered along beside Alphonse as they turned back and started down the long corridor again. "Does it seem easier? Because it looks like your gait is a lot smoother."

"Just going at my own pace, I feel pretty sturdy now, sometimes."

"Practice helps, I'm sure."

"Yeah," he sighed, stealing a sideways look at his assigned companion. "Um, so. Does, uh, does Ed like to walk? In the halls? I mean, he's not allowed out either, right?"

"He's pretty sedentary right now," Havoc said evasively. His heart gave a little twinge at the inevitable course the conversation just took. Al's focus was still on Ed, understandably obsessed with their reunion. The elder Elric's behavior was not really improving so much as changing, maybe even worsening, as far as he could tell. He seriously wondered how Al would ever cope if Ed couldn't improve enough to accept him back in human form.

"Does that mean he's still sick?"

Havoc considered his reply. Al often implied that he was being less than honest; but there was a resigned tone to his voice now. Like he was expecting more lies and no longer had the energy to be outraged by them.

"He's not sick exactly. Just weak and, well, he's still very disturbed."

"So he's still here? In this building?"

Havoc nodded; he supposed it would drive him crazy, too, if someone he cared about and wanted to see was right under the same roof yet forbidden to him.

Al considered that response as they continued their journey, pacing up and down the long, well-lit corridors. He still tired quickly, and had pushed past his comfort level the last time they made this circuit. But he didn't dare stop, or he'd be back in that tiny enclosure, despairing in the loss of another day.

It was fruitless to comment or protest about his lodgings. It would just take up breath that he needed to keep moving as long as possible. The motion was exhausting and painful and obsessively vital. It was proof of his freedom to walk once more among the living.

Don't say it yet, he thought with dread, tension growing in proportion to his waning stamina. Don't say it's time to quit. Not yet. Don't say it yet. Not yet.

"Al," Havoc started. The kid had a recognizable pattern when he exerted himself for any length of time. Shortly after he started to tire, he would grow overly flushed from the effort. That stage was uncomfortable to watch, but Alphonse would still be adamant about pressing on, and he was still able to soldier along for quite a while. But when he reached his limit, it always seemed to blindside him. Havoc was learning to pick up on the subtle signs; the flushed skin would suddenly drain of color, and Al would start having difficulty holding a conversation. Not long after, his energy and self-control would just evaporate, and Havoc would be mopping up another meltdown if he wasn't careful.

"Al. You okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, fine."

"Not much longer, all right? Don't want to overdo it."

Al winced. "I'm not overdoing anything. I'm building up my stamina."

Havoc nodded, rethinking his approach. "Well, okay. But then, I guess you'll probably be too tired to come with me to the rec room."

"Rec room?" That huge, open space, twice as big as any other inside the building, and about a million times larger than his pathetic little cell? Al stopped, bent over slightly.

"Or we could head over there now," Havoc said casually. "Up to you."

It was a surprised, grateful look that shone in the light brown eyes. "Now?"

"Sure." Havoc went with his impulse and ruffled Al's soft mop of hair.

He was somewhat stunned by the reckless reaction he got. Al glomped him in a fierce hug, softly panting, "Thank you!"

He wrapped his arms around the bony shoulder blades in return, and replied with a wry smile. "Gah, you remind me so much of my little brother sometimes."

"Really?" Al asked, choking up a little. "You have a little brother?"

"Really. I have two, actually. Two brothers and two sisters. All younger."

"Wow." They stepped back from the hug and Al gazed at him with slightly different, less guarded interest. The unexpected reprieve from being forced back into his cell brought him a second wind with a touch of uplifted spirit. "They must miss you."

"Eh, I doubt it. They have each other to fight with. I miss 'em quite a bit, though. Look, Al, I know it isn't much…but I do have some inkling of what you must be going through."

They reversed direction and started for their new destination. When Havoc slid his arm across Al's shoulders to show his moral support, the boy only hesitated for a moment before taking a similar hold on the back of the taller man's waist.

"Brother and I used to walk like this. When we had our…you know, regular bodies," Al breathed. The memories were precious and painful; his grip tightened. They had walked like this because they were such close friends, not just relatives. There was trust and loyalty. They finished each other's sentences. They had a like mind, almost as if they were twins. Except that Ed always took that extra responsibility for the two of them. He took on the extra responsibility for everything. He was always, unmistakably, the big brother.

"Yeah, me, too. Sometimes one sib under each arm, one on my shoulders, and one trailing along complaining," Havoc smiled, unconsciously making his hold a little tighter at the thought.

The shared moment brought them closer, gently creating an opening in Al's scarred and scabbed defenses. From the inside out, a trusting warmth gained a foothold where all hints of it had been snuffed before.

He had no words to express it, but his actions were all that were needed to reveal that he had turned a little corner in his self-imposed isolation. While he maintained the same tight grip, by the time they walked into the rec room, he was trembling trying to keep himself together.

The room was empty. When the door latch clicked shut, a tear slipped out.

Havoc was ready. Al had been the epitome of bottled pressure all this time, and some of that pressure was of a different nature than the overwhelming anger and the fears. His loneliness had been tightly controlled and hidden away, too.

Letting go of such strict self-denial and dropping the hardened shield enough to let someone closer was deeply disrupting. The loss of that flawed security measure opened a two-way portal; as he allowed Havoc in, out came the emotions that had been sealing that channel, a sudden evacuation of the infectious deposits of distrust and insecurity that caused him to throw up those walls to begin with.

Havoc felt a touch of guilt; sure he'd been benevolent and reasonable performing his duty securing the boy. But he was the closest thing Al had to a friend, and had been for all these weeks, yet he never followed any of his instincts when they went much beyond the parameters of his orders. There were times when Al clearly could use some help sorting out his thoughts, times when just talking to someone who was actively encouraging and sympathetic might have done him worlds of good.

The Second Lieutenant had instead followed his other instinct, the one that told him to stay out of Al's recovery process, to avoid anything that smacked of treading into the psychologist's arena. It was undeniably selfish; something he could do without anyone knowing, because to any observer, he was always quick to offer to listen and be reasonable, often despite Al's difficult behavior.

On a deeper level, there was unspoken point at which their exchanges cut off just short of Havoc's personal involvement. He supposed that he hadn't fully acknowledged it for what it was, himself. That limitation was going to have to go. Al couldn't have kept going on this way, all alone, for much longer. The situation with Ed was not going to be pretty anytime soon, even if they did manage to bring them back together; Al would need someone close in his corner to support him. There weren't many candidates for the position.

He was actually a little surprised that, after all of the outbursts and failed attempts at self-control in the past, Al managed to keep this breakdown low-key.

"Hey. Hey, kid." Sensitive to any resistance, the towering blonde turned Al gently so they could face one another. The expression on Al's face, a little distorted from his attempt to suppress tears, was different. It was an honest, unguarded look of lonely sorrow. The significance of being allowed to see what was truly in the boy's core at the moment was not lost on his keeper.

There'd always been a feeling of sympathy for Al, but he was surprised at how deep and complex that compassion had become. He'd developed a tremendous and unwise affection for Fullmetal long ago, but he never suspected that he'd come to feel anything close to that for the younger Elric. Ed was a downed comrade, it was natural to be protective of him, to want to do whatever it took to help him get back on his feet. But Al was something else again.

Things had evolved to the point where comparing Ed and Al to his own brothers was more than just lip service to get them to trust and cooperate with him. He'd already bonded strongly with Ed and now it was clear that he was committing to the same path with Al.

He had to laugh at himself. As if four siblings wasn't enough; he needed two more 'younger brothers'?

But the boys' need for a reliable big brother figure was no laughing matter. And now, since it was not just an act, at least he could help them in that way without the guilt of deception.

Other than the added emotional baggage he would normally avoid like the plague, this was a positive step.

Still, he was cautious. Suddenly being too chummy with Al might seem false, contrived. He hesitated in reaching forward, because a hug now might be too much. They'd made a lot of headway in the give-and-take of these small signs of acceptance.

Al resolved all that by dropping his forehead against the breast of the bright blue jacket and losing his fight against the tears.

"It's all right. Let it go. I'm sorry, Al. I haven't been doing this right. I haven't been giving you anything like the support I would want for my own brother if he were in your shoes. From now on I'm going to treat you just like I would want for my own family, as best as I can while following orders."

At those words, Al gripped the man like a life preserver and wished like hell he could speak in return; but the tears refused to yield, so that would just have to wait. He was exposing his weakness, his failure at growing strong and capable enough to fill his brother's old shoes as the head of his decimated family. But at least this was honest. This was the truth of his condition. He wasn't well. He wasn't strong. Being angry at his keeper for forcing him to stay protected was merely false pride and self-delusion. He was just so weary of fighting to put up that front.

It was obvious that no one believed his foolish act. It had only succeeded in pushing everyone away. He'd wanted that at first; but that drive to stay isolated from everyone in order to see only Ed had proven to be faulty reasoning long before the emotional need for separation released its iron hold.

The Lieutenant had been helping him all along without giving up, without hating him. The evil, mean things he'd done to and in front of this man to drive him away had been a personal shock; they caused him to question his own worth and integrity. Yet this witness to his dark behavior didn't pass judgment on him. He was here, comparing him favorably to his own family, and helping him in ways that seemed to be beyond mere orders or official obligation.

It ached considerably to accept the support openly like this; but it was a good ache, a feeling of walls crumbling and being released. A step up and out of the darkness. And the strength in the Lieutenant's capable arms hinted at a peace and security he hadn't known since his father disappeared from his life.

The suspicions that had held him back had lost credibility. He could trust Havoc. And having someone to trust was the first step to finding a way to trust himself again.

In his subconscious, the significance of human touch resounded through his entire being. Since the loss of his body, he had long been suffering from the lack of physical contact with other humans, a basic component of well-being and something even more vital to a boy in his formative years. Compounded by the months underground in fear of an eternity buried alive, such needs were shoved low on the hierarchy. But this embrace transcended the denial and struck a tone of acceptance. The reality of being a real live boy again was stirring with the first truly voluntary, mutual physical contact since the loss of his body.

The muffled sound of crying echoed in the empty expanse; it was the only sound as the two stood wordlessly in the fragile beginning of their deeper connection.

xxxxx

It was a little interesting at first, a little challenging. Envy shadowed the perimeter guard for most of his round, waiting, finally taking on his image and diverting slightly from the man's course to saunter innocently back past the people who had already taken his password and ID. That worked fine, just as he thought it would. By leap-frogging images, mirroring the faces of soldiers after they turned a corner or moved out of sight, he'd gone unchallenged clear up to the side door of the building where Fullmetal and his brother had been the last time he checked.

Stupid humans, he sneered inwardly. This was a sure, easy path to the doorstep of his prey. But security inside was a different matter. No matter how familiar, no matter how recently they'd been seen, it appeared that everyone's identity was being confirmed at several points when gaining access to that building.

He stepped in the side door and took a good look up and down the corridor. He was smart enough not to come in right at the wing where Ed could be seen from the windows. Of course, they'd be watching there the closest. He trundled along uncomfortably in the awkward, bottom heavy blue uniform, blurring his look just a bit to trip up any cameras that might be snooping his way. It was impossible for him to understand why anyone would join up if they saw the clown suit they'd be forced to wear ahead of time.

He slipped into an unlit, empty room, closing the door behind him as he searched, looking straight up. A ventilation register, just as he'd hoped. It was too small for a human to fit into, but that wasn't an issue. He twisted off the thumbscrews with lengthened fingers and let himself in, pulling up the vent behind him and wedging it back in place to cover his tracks.

It was a long, careful slither through the sheet metal path that brought him to the uplighting from the sunshine-filled hallway.

Fullmetal's room was at this branch off of the main duct from his best estimation. Well, he really had no interest in Fullmetal at the moment. But where Edward went, Alphonse was never too far behind. He settled in to eavesdrop and see what could be learned.

The enormous Major went through the identity check for a couple of visitors; now, at least, he had watched and figured out a couple of ways that he might be able to pass that test himself. The passcodes were longer now; he supposed that indicated yet a higher level of security.

But more interesting was the little story the burly alchemist had related in hushed tones to one of the visitors. So many tidbits of information. It was good to know that his handiwork had impressed the mortal insects so greatly. It seemed that the little bean had been telling stories that scared the natives; and now he knew the reason for their paranoid level of security. It sounded like Fullmetal still hadn't remembered his favorite parts, though. He was both offended and excited at that. It was something he couldn't seem to get out of his own head when he thought about taking possession of the little blonde troublemaker for good. If anyone was going to have final ownership of this sacrifice, it would be him. And no one else dare to challenge him for the thrill and privilege of taking his life. He knew just how he wanted to do it. It was for the two of them to experience alone.

Al's name hadn't come up and he was growing suspicious of the situation. Maybe Al was back in the infirmary. Waiting and listening here was getting boring. With an impatient twist, he took off on a new course to search the building, vent by vent, and confirm whether the younger Elric was here or not.

Riza Hawkeye smiled when Black Hayate jumped up; ever energetic, he greeted all the soldiers with a silent snap to attention well before they came into view.

But instead of that usual expectant, happy air, he bared his teeth and a deep, threatening growl rumbled in his throat. The hackles on his back bristled straight up.

Riza was on her feet in an instant, weapon in hand, scanning with a marksman's eye. Hayate began to bark and leap in place facing the corridor.

When Breda rounded the corner double-time, she aimed at his chest without missing a heartbeat.

"Freeze!"

"Shit!" Breda gasped, hands up, arresting his movement and sliding to a halt.

"Who's with you? Behind you?" she demanded.

"You've got back-up, Lieutenant!" Mustang barked, emerging from his office while giving his gloves an extra pull, a small habitual step that readied him mentally for battle. "What's the disturbance?"

"N-no one! No one! I have a message for Colonel Mustang; I was just hurrying to see why Hayate was growling!" Breda said.

"I.D.! Now! Hayate, hush!" She held out an impatient hand. "Sir, still evaluating the situation."

Mustang nodded unseen behind her, hands still up and poised.

But the dog kept growling and jumping up where he had been all along, in the space directly in front of her desk. Hawkeye snagged the I.D. badge while the pale soldier offered his password twice to make sure she heard it correctly. It became apparent in the process that Breda was not the object of Hayate's upset. He made no move toward him.

"You're clear," she said, quieter now, slipping past him to get a look up further down the hallway.

But there was on one else to be seen in either direction.

"Sound a local security alert, Lieutenant Hawkeye, level 2. Can you order the dog to start a pursuit?"

"Right away, sir."

But Hayate was already sniffing back at the desk, confused, as those first telltale traces of foul scent dissipated into the atmosphere, leaving him with no true direction for tracking. When she ordered him to track he sniffed the floor sheepishly.

"I'll run him through the building and check the area," she frowned.

"Go with her, Lt. Breda. I want reports every fifteen. Every fifteen, got it? If you miss a check-in the alert goes to red. Be sure to make Ed and Al's quarters your first security checks. Make sure those men are on their toes. And what's this message you have for me?"

"Here, sir." He passed the sealed brown envelope into the gloved palm, concealing his relief at not being shot fairly well. "We just decoded it. Came by wire about ten ago."

"Got it. Move out."

Mustang ripped it open as the rapid clicking of claws marked the progress of his two subordinates and their furry scout down the long corridor. His brow knit at the mixed news in the brief message. The body count was going to be far lower than anticipated, there were problems, and an explanation would have to wait until their return. They were at somewhere near the halfway mark in their return trip. The last line of the communiqué made him sigh, it was good news - but the fallout from the task he'd sent Fuery on was so unpredictable.

_"Sgt F rejoined Sq. w/o incident - mission success - 1 civ in transit."_

He slipped the brown paper into the shredder before returning to his office.

xxxxxxx

At the first bark of the canine alert, Envy reversed course instantly and hustled back, past the room he came through, all the way back to a breach in the duct near the air system's farthest reach. Now in fine rat form, he bailed out of the HVAC system into the framework of the attic, scrambling to the nearest glint of flashing. He bounced up the roof vent and out, freezing to hide in its shadow and wait for the general alert that was now sounding to die down. The pesky little nobodies were looking everywhere, including up, and he couldn't afford to be caught transforming into a bird and spoiling that disguise when it was still so useful.

_Dogs, damned dogs,_ he grumbled. Their superior hearing was a curse, otherwise, he'd have had free roam of the place, and have Alphonse's position scoped out by now. He'd have to do even more reconnaissance to get the information he needed to go forward with his assignment. The random poaching mission method was a bust.

It never occurred to him, as he twitched his abundant whiskers in annoyance, that the issue was his smell.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Reporting as ordered. You had some opinions you wanted to express?" Gansworth hesitated before taking the seat Mustang directed him to. He wasn't in the mood to play games of rank and protocol, and his tone was terse and direct.

The Colonel's dark eyes sharpened at the unfriendly attitude, but he forged ahead without missing a beat.

"I'm trying to get a better handle on this. For instance, just now. He comes around, more or less okay - so then what? What's your take on this?"

"My take? You don't seem to want to hear what I've already told you, Colonel. It's beyond me. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that trying to mainstream him outside of the hospital is dangerous and damn it, it's irresponsible. There's no telling when he'll have another flashback, and no predicting what he might do because of it. He might hurt himself or hurt someone else. And placing him with his brother… Alphonse is in no shape to deal with this level of drama. Do you really intend to throw them together and keep them like a pair of exotic pets, with all of us just guessing how to care for them properly? Mental institutions are set up to take custody of people when they can't think for themselves. It's a far more elaborate care regimen than just providing room and board and keeping an eye on them. I have to say, although you don't want to consider it, Edward belongs in a locked facility, protected from himself and under constant professional care and surveillance. Until he regains his equilibrium he's at constant risk. I understand that it may seems to you like you're doing him some sort of favor, as if you're being kind and sparing him from imprisonment. But I don't see any indication that he suffers from general confinement. He prefers it for the most part. You're my superior so I will follow your orders and do my best for him here…but I think it's dead wrong."

"I don't agree. At all. As hard as it is to take care of him here, it's far superior to the alternative. It's not some clinical confinement here, it's protection and a place where he can feel like he belongs."

Gansworth smacked the desktop for emphasis. "You're not listening! Do you have any concept of how much further he has to go, how much worse this might get before it gets better? That last episode was shocking to me, Colonel, and you know, I thought for a moment that at least he had uncovered the worst of it. But then I realized - this was still not related to his most intimate physical injuries, and he hasn't shown the slightest indication of remembering any of that yet. Surely you haven't forgotten? Given the nature and gravity of that damage, and the sheer evil of this last revelation, who knows what more there must be to this story?"

"Just how much time did you spend with him in that institution, Doctor?" Mustang challenged, leaning forward and matching the doctor's rising volume. "With all of that so-called expertise, I didn't see any impressive treatment methods. Did you see the manner he was kept in? Did you see the look in his eyes when they had him immobilized?"

The officer was beginning to bristle at the memories. They had treated Ed like a dangerous lab animal; their approach to long-term care was to place him on highly addictive tranquilizers and leave him strapped to the bed nearly around the clock.

"Of course I saw him. And fairly often, too. I admit they had him heavily sedated and in restraints, but damn it, it was necessary! Psychology may be outside my normal bailiwick, but I do know his condition. With the extent and nature of his injuries, and considering his inability to cooperate, there was no other choice but to immobilize him. I spent a lot of time on his case, between the surgeries and the reconstructions. I think the staff at Block Five did their part of the job well. The reports they provided on his mental status were all pretty consistent. He was fully insane and fully incapacitated."

"People don't usually go bouncing up and down the halls when they're in critical condition. He couldn't have been confined to a bed right here in this hospital? His primary threats were from his wounds. Wouldn't your own staff and facilities have been a better choice?"

"Who can say? That wasn't my call. Central's specialist had him moved to Five and my orders were to treat him using their facilities. I didn't have any qualms about it. There was no time for second guessing. My hands were full keeping him alive. As a matter of fact, you're his guardian, they must have had your permission for the transfer. Like you, I rely on their experience in making this kind of recommendation."

"A mental facility for a critically injured man, while he's still fighting for his life, is normal. You don't really believe that, do you?"

"They have medical staff! They have adequate, sterile placement for injured patients! They have more expertise in keeping disturbed men from doing themselves further damage! I don't appreciate your tone. His care was appropriate and thoughtful in every way! What are we arguing about, here, anyway? What's done is done, and you've made it abundantly clear that you won't let him transfer back. "

"And you concurred with the plan to permanently remove the automail fittings from his leg?" Mustang asked levelly. With Gansworth successfully provoked and on a verbal roll, this was his best shot at getting an honest answer or tripping him up in any subterfuge.

"Oh now…what plan? What are you contriving? There was no such thing to concur with. There was no plan to…"

"The hell there wasn't! I screwed it up for them when I brought him here. It was pure luck, a matter of timing. They never asked for my permission or so much as advised me of the possibility. You're telling me that you weren't a party to planning that procedure?"

"That's ludicrous; there was no medical necessity. The injuries in that area were very low priority, and they've healed well enough. So what would be the excuse…"

"You tell me." Mustang watched closely, but the doctor's reactions seemed genuine. He was either an accomplished actor, or he truly was an outsider to the psych staff and their hidden agendas. It was important to determine once and for all where his allegiance would lie. If he could be relied upon, it was crucial to get him on board with the way things would have to be. He had to become a believer in the need to keep Block Five's staff in the dark, because he was going to have even more secrets to keep in the very near future.

"I find that extremely hard to believe. We were prioritizing surgeries and invasive treatments and still perpetually juggling one critical procedure against another. You think there was room to throw in plans for anything arbitrary, you think I would have agreed to that? Especially when the impact on his quality of life would be so negative?"

"So you want me to believe that they didn't let you in on it." Mustang frowned. The answers confirmed his gut feeling. The doctor had been too trusting of Block Five's motives, not an accomplice to them. It seemed reasonably safe to begin schooling him to the contrary.

"I'm not convinced that it happened at all. And I think I would have known if they'd brought in another surgeon. I don't know where you get your information, but it's preposterous."

"You don't know as much about that place as you think you do. I'm not even the one who stumbled onto that plan. It was Ed's automail technician who elevated the issue. Luckily, she's a very dear friend of Ed's. She came to me ready to take my head off."

Gansworth rubbed his jaw in distracted worry. The Colonel wasn't given to flights of fancy, and there was no mistaking how deadly serious the officer's convictions were in this matter. There _were_ some things that had puzzled him about Ed's case; and changes happened without proper notice a number of times. But they had been things that were seemingly arbitrary and harmless, not worth a second thought compared to the Herculean tasks they were undertaking to repair and reconstruct the shattered remnants of his body.

Had he missed such a dangerous trend of mismanagement, intentional or not, in the overwhelming burden of trying to help the boy survive in more or less one piece?

"Personal friend, you say. Friends can become very distraught. Seeing Edward's condition would be difficult, to say the least. She probably misunderstood something that was said," he responded, more thoughtful now than argumentative.

"Miss Rockbell isn't one for hysterics. She's a seasoned automail tech. Not a job for the squeamish."

"Rockbell? I do know who you're referring to. I remember doing a consultation with her, and it was regarding the damage to his nerve connections. She actually worked on him a number of times on her own. I know, because I remember seeing it in his records each time. And I did wonder why I wasn't called in to assist, or at the very least, to observe. "

"It wasn't that she had someone else assist. She didn't trust the staff from the start, so she managed to do the repairs and replacements solo. Ms. Rockbell is nothing short of a wizard in that department. But there was an incident. He had to be awake enough to move and verify the connections when she finished, and staff was responsible for having him sedated at a safe level. But when she pulled off the restraint he attacked her the second he had the arm free. According to the incident report from the orderlies, when they got her away from him, he nearly succeeded in crushing his own throat in the confusion. She jumped right back in his reach to stop him. Sound like someone who would be rattled by his condition?"

"That was documented in his charts, they didn't hide it. I wasn't there when it happened, but I read the incident report. It happened because they were late with his sedation."

"They were supposed to reduce his meds to keep him at a safe, semi-conscious level specifically for her procedures. How could they be 'late' with that? Bottom line, they screwed it up - whether intentionally or not I guess we'll never know for sure. She addressed the issue afterward by resetting the compression strength to minimal; on the regular setting, his automail has the capability of killing with prehensile force alone."

"So you're not just critical of their methods. You don't trust Ed in their care at all." He hadn't even considered the possibility that there were internals that might intend to do actual harm to Edward. And, Ganworth slowly realized, there was a purpose behind the piercing stare those dark eyes delivered. He was under some suspicion as well. This was an interrogation meant to reveal what side he was on.

"According to her, the psych lead was adamant that Ed would never improve, and that weakening the limb wasn't enough. He hounded her about it every time she came in to make adjustments. He tried demanding the schematics so he'd have the ability to remove and impound the automail arm at will, supposedly as a last resort for when he was out of control."

"Just a moment. Which lead? Did she give you a name?"

"Dr. Krieg. Johan Krieg, I assume. I checked staffing as part of due diligence to verify her story. The administrator is the only Krieg on record."

"The administrator? That's certainly not in his purview. That's a very strange story indeed." Even more puzzling, it was highly unlikely that Miss Rockbell would even be aware of the man's existence at floor level.

"The last straw was came when they summoned her on the pretense of an emergency service call. It was bogus; just another attempt to get the secrets to his devices. Only this time, it was worse; the lead wanted the leg taken off permanently, including the fittings integrated into his body. She refused. He - Kreig - ordered her to provide certain necessary details so that he could have the procedures done by someone else, with or without her assistance. That's the point where she came to me. I tried to convince her that I would never give permission for something like that to happen, but that wasn't enough. She blasted me for mismanagement, said she'd never hand over the procedure for removing the automail fittings to anyone. At the time, I believed that they would have to get my approval as his guardian to alter his automail in any way, so I assured her that I would issue orders that she was the only one authorized to service the automail. It was under control. It didn't help; by the next morning she'd already packed up and left." Mustang grimaced and swept a hand across the desktop. "I didn't get a chance to explain that over in Psych, staff answers directly to Central - so she may have decided that I was stonewalling her. And I have to confess that I was somewhat skeptical of her story. As you say, Dr. Krieg's involvement didn't make sense. I'd never been in the position of questioning the motives of the medical units. She admitted that her visits set Ed off terribly, it was obvious that she was pretty upset by that. So it didn't seem unreasonable to me that she hadn't been back after that. He didn't need service, and her visits weren't beneficial to either one of them emotionally. I figured that the next time she showed up, we'd get it all straightened out."

"Makes sense. So she chose not to return for visits for a period of time. That's not remarkable, in fact it's very common. Most of the patients in any long-term care facility receive fewer and fewer visits as time goes on. Especially when the outlook for their recovery and release is poor," Gansworth said.

"But that wasn't it, after all. Apparently someone on Five's staff wrote to harass her continuously after she left, threatening to have her brought here and detained until she told them everything they wanted to know. Which explains why our recent letters came back unopened."

"You're making a very serious allegation. There must be some other way to reach her to clarify this. These claims need to be investigated. And Edward is sorely in need of help with his automail issues."

"Well, that's being addressed now. I didn't give it much priority until we sent a special delivery message that Al was found alive and it bounced. Up until then I thought she was reading what was sent and just wasn't responsive. If she was using excuses to avoid seeing Ed like this, then that was up to her. But now I'll wager that she didn't even know that Edward was released to live here, and she's the closest thing he has to a living relative outside of Alphonse. All that dirty work is the product of that institution you're so sold on." He didn't quite have enough trust in Gansworth to reveal all of the cards - that much of the information came from recently filched copies of Central and Block Five's confidential inter-office correspondence logs. Those logs were still being combed by Master Sergeant Fuery, or at least they had been until he put the task on hold to leave for his current assignment.

"Don't go any further, Colonel. I get your point."

"The punch line to that long story is that Ms. Rockbell has been contacted and she's agreed to come back."

"Really." The doctor frowned, making mental notes. "How soon, do you know? I need to prepare for this. And I'm guessing that she is close friends with Alphonse as well?"

"She should arrive tomorrow. And, yes, as far as I know. The three of them have been friends since early childhood."

"It's good news that she's coming, of course, but still…I'm thinking we will need to be very cautious."

"Understand this. Edward is not just an official issue or a problem to be dealt with. He's no longer my subordinate but he's still my responsibility and a very special person in many ways. It may be easier to shelve him away by some other method. But I refuse to believe that it would be better for him to be with strangers in an unfamiliar place. And as soon as he's able to start telling us more about what has happened, that's top secret information we may need in order to defend against any further attacks. So there is no other option."

Gansworth shook his head in frustration. There were just too many unknowns to plan for with any level of confidence. And all of these revelations about Central and Psych were unsettling and hard to absorb. "You may have eliminated the alternatives, but it doesn't change the fact that it's dangerous to have him here loose like this."

"It is dangerous, I agree, but it's the far lesser danger. I can't have him showing up on the base hospital roster too much, either. There are several very stringent superiors that I answer to in Central. He's no longer active military and as far as they're concerned I'm on thin ice keeping him here as it is. I can't have his name passing under too many eyes week after week. And then there's the matter of Alphonse. He'd raise the roof if we tried to lock Edward up. I can just see him going straight to Fuhrer Bradley and taking up his offer to let them stay in Central together. I've gone over and over this in my mind, and this is the absolute best I can do for him. He has to stay here."

"Then I have to ask that you take the time to reconsider my approach with a regimen of continuous low-dose sedation. Slow thoughts aren't necessarily a bad thing, and in Edward's case it might be a blessing. You mentioned his…"

Lieutenant Hawkeye rapped and entered briskly without pause. "You're needed, sirs. Major Armstrong is reporting an increase in activity again."

xxXxxXxxXxx

Ed's mumbling increased in volume, and he began worming back and forth to ease his discomfort.

"Are you in pain, lad?" Armstrong hovered, trying to determine if this was truly an awakening or just more unconscious movement. Ed hadn't responded, but instead continued to move side to side in the bed, eyes closed.

Gansworth appeared at his elbow, and they traded places as soon as the identity verification was complete.

The doctor took over, thumbing up Ed's eyelids with some difficulty while his patient moved away from his touch. He was indeed coming into consciousness again, slightly agitated already, and that wasn't promising.

Automail wobbled in the air until it found the intruder that had touched his face and straightened to hold him away.

Blurred, splintered light danced in the foreground until blinking started to clear it away; confusion and disorientation accompanied the effort to clear his vision. The last of the dream dissipated without a trace, forgotten, and the thin, concerned face hovering nearby was slower in making sense. It wasn't long before he recognized Gansworth, but once identified his gut reaction was still mixed.

It still compelled him to move away, to try and come into alertness immediately. The white-jacketed body blocked the rest of the view, and for a few moments he couldn't be sure if he was in his room. The I.V. was still aggravating his inner arm, and he struggled with the fear that he was back in the infirmary.

The attempt to bolt upright was no match for the firm hand that pinned his shoulder. That was the Major at work, closing in to assist. It brought him into visual range, and Ed's eyes latched onto the welcome sight. He got a hand up to seize the man's sleeve, his automail still pushing the doctor to stay at arm's length.

"Major!" He barely got the word out of his dry, sticky throat. He coughed to clear it and blinked hard to get his eyes to cooperate.

"It's okay, Edward, everything is under control. I'm here," Armstrong leaned even closer to be sure that Ed could see him easily.

"Let's relax this now," Gansworth said, attempting to guide the metal arm down. It didn't budge.

Ed didn't know what to say as he tried to read the eyes behind the glaring spectacles.

Gansworth gave him a few seconds and then tried again.

"Do you recognized me, Edward? Are we all right now?"

"Doc…" Ed managed.

"That's right, very good." He tried gently pushing the automail aside again. "Can we bring this down now? I'm not comfortable with having this pressed against my chest."

Ed tried to accommodate by squirming further away until they were out of contact, cautiously maintaining the rigid straight-arm between them while clinging awkwardly to the Major.

"Thank you. That's much better," Gansworth said, feigning a pleased smile. Rather than push the point any further, he decided to wait and see how long it would take for the defensive posture to drop.

Ed didn't volunteer anything in the next two minutes of silent stand-off.

"It looked like you were dreaming when I came in. Can you tell me what the dream was about?" he asked mildly.

Ed shook his head.

"Was it a pleasant dream or a difficult one?"

"Don't know," he said, reluctant to seem accepting of the man's persistence.

"If you're still tired it's perfectly fine to sleep a bit longer," Armstrong offered.

"Un-uh." Ed seemed to respond right away to reject the Major's suggestion. He changed focus and released his hold, stiffly lowering both arms. "I gotta get up."

No longer fended off, the doctor motioned for Armstrong to give him room. He stationed himself further up along the bed. Ed didn't resist when he maneuvered closer to help him sit up, but it was obvious that he was still on exaggerated alert.

"Better?"

"Uh." Ed tried to keep the doctor in sight but pain forced his eyes to squeeze shut. His flesh hand knuckled the area of his shoulder near the automail. A wave of involuntary movement passed through his metal fingers with an unsettling clatter. He managed to get his eyes to open up.

"Hurts."

The doctor reached out and Ed evaded his hand.

"Hold still now."

"No, I'm okay."

"I understand that, but you need to let me do my job. I just want to look. I need to know what's going on here." He ignored his patient's reluctance and eased a hand just under the wide neck opening, glad they hadn't switched him back to t-shirts yet. It felt hot, not just warm. On observation, it was slightly reddened.

"Have you been rubbing at this quite a lot?"

Ed shook his head and shrugged, careless of the warning twist of pain that move gifted him with. Even though he was suffering, the subject seemed to be boring and irritating him a little already. Now that he could clearly see that he was in his own room with the Major standing close by, the doctor's presence wasn't so very threatening.

"Are you upset about something, Edward? You don't seem to be very happy."

The expression on the young man's face changed again at that. His grumpy frown loosened.

"I don't know."

"You must have some idea how you're feeling right now."

"I just woke up. I'm not…but you're already poking and prodding at me, I don't get a chance."

"I'm sorry if you feel disturbed when I check on you. You know that my aim is to make sure that you're getting better. Is there something I can do differently that would help?"

Ed's next shrug aggravated the pain in his shoulder sharply, doubling him over. Gansworth's hands moved to steady him, and Ed's attempt to ward him away with the back of his hand missed entirely.

"Aah…wait…"

"It's going to be all right now, let me help you. You slept past the last dose of your pain medication, let's get that down so it can start working."

"No. I don't want it."

"I know. But you'll need it in order to move around, and you'll be expecting to do your exercises today at some point. Right, Major?"

"Absolutely. We've got a great day lined up."

Ed frowned uncomfortably and let his gaze slide past the men to the walls and ceiling; the urge to touch the dull surfaces struck him out of nowhere. He had no idea why he needed to do that. The walls were the same as always. It was the same ceiling he'd been stuck staring at for too many hours. His still-sluggish thought process gave up on trying to figure out what he was supposed to be checking for, and his attention returned to the bothersome doctor.

"See something?" the doctor asked lightly.

Ed shook his head, and recoiled with a grunt from the offered medication. "No. I said I'll take it later."

"I'm must insist that you take it now. Would you like the Major to assist you?"

Ed tried to push the pill away, but when his hand touched the doctor's, he froze, confronted by the shape of a forbidden object. There was pen protruding from the man's shirt pocket. His mind started racing blindly, flailing for a plan to get that item. To cover his intentions, his face twitched away.

"Wait! Okay, I will…I'll take it! You can help me. But, um, I still don't like it. You'll have to get close. Real close."

The doctor caught the not-so-subtle double-take directed at his pocket, immediately putting together what it was that Ed had laid eyes on that caused him to change his tune so abruptly.

"Sure, that's not a problem. I'm here to help you, after all," he said evenly, considering how best to handle this development.

Ed feigned lost balance but only managed to come to rest against the starched placket with empty hands. It wasn't enough of a distraction, and the pocket was too high up to palm the pen without getting caught. The urge to just grab it was almost uncontrollable. As much as he tried to haul his eyes away, they traveled back while he stoically withstood the urge to gag and dumped the whole cup of water down his throat in one throw.

He swallowed hard and gave it another try. "I need to get up. I need you to help me up." He held his arms out like a child waiting to be carried.

"Take it easy, now. Hold on just a minute." Gansworth reached into his pocket quickly, intent on minimizing the distress the Ed was sure to experience at losing the opportunity to grab the item it held. Judging from his somewhat crude and simplistic demeanor, Ed's reaction time and thought processes were extremely sluggish at the moment, but he wasn't displaying any undue stress or disconnect from reality.

This actually seemed like a good opportunity to try something he'd been contemplating. If anything, the boy needed more of a sense of empowerment. Maybe, instead of forbidding him to have the pen, he could safely have limited, supervised use of it instead.

"I want to give you the opportunity to write something."

Ed's jaw dropped as his hand reached out, opening and closing in uncontrolled impatience. "Give it to me!"

"In a moment." He fished in the deeper coat pocket, letting his fingers brush the sedative vials for reassurance, and then brought out a small pad of paper. "I'm going to give you a chance to write a note to someone. I'm about to hand you a pen and pad. Would you like that?"

"Yes!"

"All right then. All you have to do first is have a little nourishment, and I would have said 'take your pill,' but you've already done that for me. So you just need to do this one thing first."

Ed's lips tightened. His head shuddered back and forth in a negative before he was able to override his involuntary reaction and nod in agreement instead.

Armstrong took the hint and fetched the sectioned container that had been resting on the counter, peeling open the lid. Everything in it was more or less dry and crunchy, strategically selected to be the tactile opposite of the slimy matter that haunted his memory.

Ed plucked out a couple of peanuts with breathless determination. He clamped down on his stomach's writhing resistance and ate mechanically while he stared at the pen, wondering who the hell this guy thought he would want to write to. A few more nuts, a cracker, a surprise chocolate chip - the little bits went down with just a few bites, still in an essentially solid texture, slipping by without triggering a shutdown by his subconscious defenses. He was warier of the drink, but it was just the usual grape juice, and it was gulped down and out of the way almost too fast for him to think of his next move. What was the plan, how could he create a distraction to keep the pen after writing the note? Maybe he could say he wanted to write some more, take notes, draw…_no, no, don't say draw_, he chided himself, that might remind them of the symbols and they would take it away for sure. They must have forgotten, and he couldn't afford to remind them.

He went for a large fistful of food in his nervousness and was startled again when Gansworth brought up a hand to slow him down.

"Ed," he said quietly. "I'm pleased that you're doing so well with that, but let's go easy for now. I think that too much at once will be a little bit of a chore for your system to deal with; your body is accustomed to a very soft, bland diet. We want you to be comfortable. This is going to stay here, we'll have it full for you all the time, any time you feel like you're hungry, or if you just feel like chewing on something, or if you get bored or whatever. It's not a meal, there's no time limit, no expectation as to when or how much you should have. You don't have to take another bite of it if don't want to, that's fine as well."

Ed opened his hand and let the bits of food tumble back into the container without a second thought. He'd met his requirement. He'd earned the damned pen. His bladder was twitching when the Major offered to walk him to the bathroom but he protested that he didn't need to go.

They didn't buy it. With a maddeningly calm smile, the doctor told him that he would wait until they returned.

It was almost working too well, in Armstrong's worried eyes. Ed was suddenly obedient and controlled, the sneaky introduction to free feeding had gone off without a hitch. The boy was nothing if not perceptive and suspicious, and he definitely tended to be stubborn at times. The carefully thought out type of food, express lack of pressure to eat it and full control of when, what and how much he consumed could easily have been recognized as what it was - an attempt to manipulate him into feeling more normal and natural about eating.

Once he was taking in food without high levels of distress, and the process of digestion settled back down to normal, there was a much better chance of awakening his body's natural rhythm and resurrecting his appetite. Reintroduced to his own cycle of hunger and satiation, the hope was that Ed could regain the ability to control his own nutritional intake.

This stage was delicate in relationship to that goal. They would have to be very careful in controlling his environment if they were to going to be able to re-establish the idea that there were things that were safe and reasonable to put in his mouth and swallow. Today's first baby step in the process of de-sensitization was a success.

They'd managed to trick him into taking this trip without the usual hesitation, too, Armstrong realized. He held the infusion bag aloft, matching pace as Ed scrambled down the hall with an uneven, stumbling clatter. His attempt to lend a hand was brushed off impatiently, and it set him to wondering if Gansworth realized just how much this meant to his patient.

"Easy, now, lad."

"Never mind, just keep up!"

It was distressing to think that the carrot they were dangling was the instrument Ed fully intended to use to end his existence. The volatile situation they were descending into was no doubt going to be tricky.

Ed was fidgety when they returned, still clumsily leading the Major in his hurry to get back. When Gansworth directed him to sit and started to hand him the pad, his control slipped and he snatched it away far too forcefully.

He knew instantly that he'd made a mistake. It wasn't even the thing he really wanted.

"I'm sorry! I'll give it back!"

"No, no, it's fine. I understand that you're anxious to try this. Before I give you the pen..."

"Yes? Yes? What?"

"…I want you to think about who you want to write your note to."

"Okay, okay. I'll write to you!"

"That's nice, Edward, but that's not what this exercise is about. You're going to write to someone you haven't seen in a while. It might be a little difficult for you, but if it is, that's all right. I'm going to help you if you like."

"Haven't seen, haven't seen…" Ed waggled his head impatiently. "Colonel Mustang!"

"Think harder, okay? Someone you haven't seen in a long while. Someone you'd like to communicate with."

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! You're thinking of who it is, you know who it is, just tell me! There's somebody you want me to write to, just tell me who the hell it is!" Ed snapped, starting to bend the pad in his fist. His self-control was stretching like piano wire, anxious to figure out how he was going to be able to keep the pen and get away with it when they were all through making him jump through hoops.

"Okay, let's calm down now. Just take a deep breath. You'll know if you think about it, Edward."

"No I don't. I said what I thought. I can't think of anyone else!"

"Remember what we've been telling you?" Gansworth swallowed, feeling the sharp edge of discomfort from pushing this issue. His conservative opinion was that the subject was something that shouldn't be rushed. But Mustang indicated that the brothers' reunion had to be soon. The shock needed to be softened somehow and there was no time to delay it any further; unfortunately, the process was bound to be somewhat shocking and unpleasant in itself.

Ed pursed his lips and shook his head, just barely maintaining under the pressure.

"Okay, I'll say it again. Alphonse is alive and well - and he thinks of you often. So this would be a nice start to getting the two of you back in touch. A little note would probably make him feel better. You want to write to your little brother and let him know you're all right so he won't worry so much about you. So he'll know that you want to see him again. Do you think you can do that?" With that, Gansworth held out the pen. If he could get Ed to behave as if Al were here and alive and available to communicate with, even if he didn't believe it at first, it would be modeling his behavior a step in the right direction.

Ed snatched the pen as soon as it was in reach; but his head jerked back as the words sank in. The pen took on new significance as the concept lanced his single-minded determination, splitting his momentum and ripping his conviction apart.

Use the pen…to communicate with Al? No, that wasn't an answer. The pen clutched in his whitening fingers would be the instrument for retrieving the body held hostage at the Gate, and only a soul given in payment would redeem it. Sacrificing himself to the blue-white light in the other dimension wasn't frightening at all; there had been no remorse, no pain and no fear in the aborted attempt. This thing was meant to mark his body, to gain access to the terminal edge and fling himself into the perfect oblivion. But was he so sure he was right? Or was his conviction false, driven by the selfish desire leave the pain of this world behind? Damn it, he'd been so sure of this just minutes ago. Every time he had answer, and thought he'd found his way…something jerked the rug out from under his feet.

The guy made it sound as if notes could be passed to Al easily, any time. That also implied that he'd kept Al waiting and worrying needlessly; that he was somewhere here but held apart, and somehow it was his fault. He wasn't resisting that story because he preferred his own version - was he? Wouldn't it be better if they were right? But they weren't. Al was dead. Wasn't he?

"I don't…you just…don't know ," Ed was breathing harshly. Suddenly, there was no path to relief, no release, no absolution to believe in. Just more pain and confusion and uncertainty, because who the hell, who the hell had checked, who had decided? Who knew so damned much that they were so sure they had Al? If they did have someone or some thing claiming to be his brother right here, how could they be so calmly convinced of it?

He gripped the newly acquired items with increasing force. He was the one, the only one, the only person who could make that call. He was the only person left in this world who could identify Al, his only next of kin, dead or alive. So they were distracting him with guesses, lies, careless misunderstandings…this was important, this was life, his brother's life, this was everything, how the fuck could they dare to be so careless and make that kind of judgment?

He was crushing the pad fiercely now, and the automail made the pen creak in its unnatural grip.

When he looked up, the rage that was building in his chest showed clearly on his face. It took the doctor aback, and the Major stepped in closer.

"Ed." Gansworth was wary, taking a defensive stance. "You look very angry right now."

Ed's eyeballs rolled up into his head as he struggled to summon the composure to respond in words. The Major reached out tentatively and nearly touched the pen before he jerked it away and locked it down close to his body in a tight grip.

"I…am…angry," he growled through clenched teeth. "You don't know anything!"

"Tell me what it is that…"

"You ruin everything!" he screamed, loud enough to make them flinch away. The Major was expecting sedation, a call to action. But the doctor held his ground and replied calmly.

"I don't mean to. I don't intend to make you angry. I don't intend to ruin anything. You have to tell me what I'm doing wrong, Edward."

"This! This! You believe this?" He dropped his head to focus his murderous glare on the pad, shaking it inches from the wire-rimmed spectacles. "You expect me to believe this?"

"I asked you to write a note."

"You're the one who decides? What do you know? How the hell do you know?"

"Decides what, Edward?"

"You don't know, you don't fucking know anything!"

"Then explain it to me. Tell me so I'll know. So I don't make this mistake again, what ever it is, that has you so upset."

"You're an idiot. You just…I'll write your note, your fucking note, your stupid note, you take it, and you give to whoever, or whatever, or damn what I don't know, because you don't know, you don't know!" He held the pen like a dagger in his fist, digging furrows into the paper, ripping a ragged 'AL' at the top, slashing a sideways 'ED' at the bottom. He slammed the pen and pad flat into the doctor's chest before the Major could intervene; but Gansworth stayed calm, just rocking back slightly with the blow, catching the pen and just missing the falling pad as Ed pulled his hands away.

Ed jerked back in surprise, gasping at his own impulsive action. He gaped at his hands, shocked at losing physical control, possession of the all-important pen, his momentum, and train of thought all at once.

"Ah, shit! Shit! What's happening, what the hell am I doing?" he wailed. "How did you get in my head? What are you trying to do to me?"

Gansworth bent warily to retrieve the pad and slid both items in his deep coat pocket before straightening to follow Ed as he backed away.

"I'm not trying to do anything to you, Edward. Let's slow down now. You're trying to get your bearings, isn't that right? Things got a little shaky and you need to get focused on where you are and what's around you right now. There's nothing wrong with that."

The Major was impressed with the doctor's tenacity, and relieved that he hadn't resorted to medication as a first reaction. He was ready to jump in, but so far Gansworth was handling things quite capably.

Ed's automail came a bit too far forward and Armstrong nearly intervened, suppressing his reaction in favor of waiting for the doctor's direction.

Gansworth's hand hovered, just shy of touching the clenched automail, letting Ed make his own decision.

"You don't want to hurt anyone. You're very upset right now. Use words, tell me what you're feeling, what you want."

Ed jerked back, gripping his own head in a desperate attempt to stop the world from breaking apart all around him.

"Get away! Get back! Stop it! You piss me off!" Ed rasped on the verge of hyperventilating.

"And I ask you again, Ed, how did I do that?"

"You jerk, you made me…you made me eat peanuts! And write on paper! With a pen!" he screamed, so loud and out of control that spittle flew and Gansworth reached one hand into his pocket for the medication, bringing up the other in a signal to the Major.

At the end of that angry accusation, Ed spun to face away. As his body turned, it drooped oddly, a sudden change from the stiff fury that had been reaching worrisome heights. With an odd bark of noise he dropped straight down to sit smack on floor without making any effort to break the fall. Legs splayed out straight in front of him, his whole body started shaking.

Everything went blank and weightless - his mind, the room, the voices inside and outside of his head - and sent him spinning blindly into a safe warm void, lofting him up in a tummy-tickling ride that had no sense of time or place. Sensations of motion and a soft, silly quality insulated him from everything else. Like a roller-coaster, it was harmless fun. In fact, it was so funny, it was almost painful. Fully immersed, he scarcely perceived his own unfiltered reactions, his physical body abandoned to the care of those still standing over him in the troublesome real world.

When the two worried men moved closer, he flopped back, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. It startled them to see his expression. He was grinning and laughing mutely, open-mouthed, his gasping for air the only sound. It emphasized the dull report as he began rhythmically rapping the back of his head against the floor.

"Oh boy," Gansworth breathed, shaking his head. The anger was something that could be dealt with. But this was more complicated. The bizarre reaction demonstrated just how important it was to have an attendant in place around the clock. One moment he was interacting, and the next he was slipping out of control and out of touch, blind to his surroundings. "Come on, Ed, let's not do this on the hard floor."

The Major stepped in to help gather him up and get him on the bed, pushing him back down gently when he tried to roll off or get up, waiting for ebb and flow of the mild hysterics to pass. By the time it ran its course, Ed was somber and quiet, dazed and unsure of what was happening.

"You're all right, Edward. Just stay where you are and relax," Gansworth said. Since he'd quieted down on his own, there had been no pressing need to tranquilize him, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Ed had the vague impression of waking up from a fever mid-day. The doctor hovered so close that the white coat kept brushing against him, but he wasn't asking any questions, and the Major wasn't prompting him to get up and do his exercises. He felt worn out, even though he could swear he'd just slept for hours and hours. Maybe he was sick again, that was a discouraging thought. Sometimes it seemed like he was going to be sick forever. His stomach did hurt, so that was probably it.

"I can't be flat anymore, even if I am sick," Ed sighed. The way they were watching him, he must have had some pretty bad dreams. A touch of grateful relief passed through him that he couldn't recall any of the nightmares at all this time. The decapitation one had been plaguing him the last few days, and that one always made him feel creepy long after it would send him bolting up from bed.

"Are you feeling ill?" Gansworth asked softly, helping him up. "Do you feel a bit calmer now?"

A confused look crossed his scarred face. He slogged through his brain for a reply. The pause grew long enough that the doctor tried again.

"Let me ask you this. Can you tell me what just happened? Anything?"

Nothing helpful came to mind; he didn't know what event the question referred to and he balked at asking for an explanation. With no answer, he shook his head said nothing. He watched them watch him with mild interest.

Lieutenant Havoc eased up to the doorway, a little apprehensive at the quiet. The Major stepped out to take his I.D.; he wasn't sure if they wanted him to even attempt to bring in food at this point. He was toting broth, toast and a thinly-sliced apple; upon inspection, Gansworth deemed it innocuous enough to offer.

Ed watched Havoc's arrival with open interest, although he moved abruptly to keep a watchful eye on the tray as it traveled through the room and came to rest on the counter.

Gansworth didn't stop Ed from rising and groping past him for Havoc. His motions were tentative until he touched the soldier's arm farthest from the tray and snagged it, pulling the Lieutenant away from the suspect item and sidling until they were both back nearly to the door.

"Whoa, hey, buddy, where're we going so soon?" Havoc asked in feigned amusement.

"To…to…your room." The idea popped out of his mouth as it popped into his head. He squirreled around until he was between Havoc and the wall, holding onto the back of his coat. "Just leave that there and we'll go."

"You want to go to my room? I'm sorry, Ed, but I don't have a room here."

"You…you're sure?"

"I'm sure. What's up, buddy? What's wrong with just staying here?"

He felt as much as heard Ed's low moan of frustration, and the boy's weight slumped slightly against his back. "Where do you go then? I can…I can go with you."

The soldiers looked to the doctor nearly in unison, seeking direction.

"We can discuss that," Gansworth nodded agreeably, humoring him with no real intent of letting him go anywhere. This impromptu session had surpassed any beneficial level of stressful provocation long ago. To hit him with anything that might further alienate or upset him was irresponsible. It was time to rein him back into the secure doldrums of his present situation. "There are a number of steps that we need to take to prepare a request to leave the building. We can work through them if you decide that you want to have an outing with the Second Lieutenant."

Ed went silent, clinging to the broad back. Havoc tried turning slightly, in an attempt get eye contact, but there was no play in the grip. The increase in pressure indicated that he should stay put.

Havoc was confused, but played along. There didn't seem to be any sense in letting Ed leave with him; his quarters were in the housing adjacent to the base, and security there was pretty much self-serve.

Not to mention he hadn't shoveled the place out in way too long. The ashtrays alone…nope, whatever Gansworth was up to, he doubted that it involved actually granting Ed's impulsive request.

"Come here so we can talk about it?" the doctor said softly. "Tell me exactly what it is that you want."

It was a struggle to sort out an explanation from the raw instinct to get under Havoc's protective influence and get away from the disturbing pressure of their session. It helped that his mental functions were starting to improve, warming up with all of the interaction and motion. Protectively placed behind Havoc and solidly against the wall, the need for high alert was fading, along with the cognitive demands that went with it.

Soon his hands were just resting on the expanse of blue material, and he stared at it as he tried to absorb what the doctor said.

So, if he knew where he wanted to go then there was just some kind of approval process and then it would be okay. He was kind of shocked that they would just let me him leave. He had all these problems, and the I.V. still, and he was supposed to stay here. Being confined wasn't what normal people would put up with so that should have been a pleasant surprise, but it wasn't. The hint of freedom felt dangerous and scary, and the idea that he might be expected to leave before he was ready ghosted across the back of his mind, too paralyzing to contemplate directly.

Havoc felt like a brick wall. Leaving with him, to go hide where he hides, revealed itself for the flawed reasoning that it was. A big, capable career soldier like that probably didn't have a hiding place. He probably had no need to hide at all.

The altercation with Gansworth continued to slowly seep back into his awareness. He wasn't sure how it had come to this point; the world had gone all fuzzy when he'd stopped yelling and the next thing he knew he was waking up moments ago.

The note. All this started over a note.

It seemed that they were watching him closely because he had disobeyed when the doctor wanted him to write to Al. He wasn't sure if he understood what that meant. It was like they were trying to find out some secret from him, but he didn't know what that might be. If he knew how to reach his brother he would have been doing it already. They wouldn't have to trick him into revealing that knowledge.

Everyone was waiting for his next move - that much became obvious - and with a clearer grip on the moment, he finally figured out that he was in a ridiculous position with a roomful of people watching him like hawks over nothing.

What kind of person would he be if he knew how to reach Al and simply hadn't tried? It occurred to him that he did have a right to be angry at them for thinking that. It took a lot of effort to sort things out enough to talk about them, and if they were going to piss him off, he wasn't going to do what they wanted just because they asked.

"Not gonna," he muttered.

"I'm sorry that this has been such a difficult session, Edward. I'd really like to hear your thoughts right now. I think that it's important, and I think it will be helpful in the long run."

Ed frowned and let Havoc go, watching with embarrassment at just how slowly and cautiously they were moving around him right now; acting like he was some easily frightened animal.

The rise of impatience with his own frailties drove him to square his shoulders and speak up.

"How come I'm the only one who has to talk? You answer my questions first!"

The bold, clear tone caught the soldiers by surprise.

Gansworth took it in stride. He had more of a feel for the range of thought processes Ed tumbled through in his various stages of lucidity and awareness; in fact, this was precisely the direction he was angling for with the benevolent offer to further plan and negotiate a field trip with the Second Lieutenant. The proposal of planning a real-life activity with real-life considerations was bound to stimulate the boy's logical thinking. Ed had a strong inclination to try and handle practical life issues whenever he could see them clearly enough. While doing so, his emotional state tended to be much more orderly and reasonable.

Earlier, this would not have been possible, Ed was far too touchy and defensive. But the pendulum had made its way back to calmer waters in the aftermath of the small breakdown.

"Certainly. I'm always willing to discuss anything with you that you'd like. I'll be happy to give you answers, as best as I can give them."

"Is there really a way for you to give that note to my brother? One you know about?" Ed stood with his fists clenched and jaw jutting out; he looked fierce again. Whether angry or just determined, it was difficult to say.

"There is."

"You think he's alive."

"I have seen him and I know that he is very much alive."

"Then…are you saying…he's near here?"

"Correct," he said, a little slower to respond. This was heading into hard territory and they needed to be winding things down. "We'll be talking about that next time, in as much detail as you like. How does that sound?"

"Is he…" For a moment, Ed's voice broke. "is he safe?"

"I assure you that he is safe and very well cared for. You needn't worry about that."

"I don't believe you. Why isn't he here, then? Why haven't I seen him?"

"Well, that's a little more complicated. Your condition…"

"No!" Ed bowed his head, tension making ropes of the veins in his neck. "I'm asking about Alphonse. I don't want to hear about my condition."

"You have seen him, Edward. I only refer to your condition because it's the reason that meeting with him was highly disturbing to you, and the reason that you don't seem to remember it. There was concern that one or both of you might get hurt."

"That's bullshit!" Ed snapped. "Look at me. I couldn't hurt him even if I tried!"

"That might have been true before, but he's a boy of flesh and blood now and quite vulnerable, remember? That was part of the issue. You couldn't be certain of his identity."

Ed waivered, outrage slightly deflected. Maybe he remembered something like that.

"So he's just somewhere doing something, like…like…""

"He's waiting. He understands. And because he understands, he waits, and will continue to wait until we can determine a time that is in your best interest, and his as well. Our concern is with well-being for the both of you. "

"Have you seen him, too?" Ed asked abruptly. The two soldiers had been suspiciously stiff and silent.

At the marked hesitation, Ed caught them looking to Gansworth for direction.

"No! Don't look at him, damn it! Tell me the truth!"

"They will," Gansworth assured. It would be best if they could stop this line of questioning now, but handled the wrong way, Ed would likely become enraged again. "Go ahead, gentlemen."

Havoc swallowed, waiting for his turn as Armstrong replied.

"Your brother is indeed alive and well, Edward. I have seen him. And I know that he is waiting here for the sole purpose of seeing you."

Ed's hands sought Havoc again, but they slid as he stumbled back. The taller blond caught his elbow and eased him over to sit on the bed.

"You're going to tell me that you've seen him, too?" he breathed.

Havoc nodded. "I've probably seen him more than anyone else does. He really is here."

Ed doubled over, holding his elbows and rocking back and forth. "But if he is, what does he think?"

"He's expressed very positive thoughts about seeing you again. Let's not worry about…" Gansworth began.

"If he is, I can't be making him wait. But he wouldn't wait. Why would he wait? I wouldn't. I 'd just, I'd just…Right here? But I didn't. I mean, I did. No. I should…I should…" he shook his head with a frustrated groan. "I should go out there and find him. Why didn't I do that already? "

"Maybe we can work on that."

"I don't know. I don't know if I can, what if I can't?" Coward! he accused himself, baffled at the melee of mixed feelings when there should only be dedication and determination to get back to his little brother and make things right for him.

"Just a few minutes ago you were ready to go with Lieutenant Havoc to his quarters, even though you didn't know where they were. You'll get there, we just need to be patient and take things one step at a time."

"What? No, I don't know about that. I don't know what that was. Shut up, that doesn't have anything to do with anything!"

"All right, all right, let's calm down now, I think we're going a little too fast."

"You stop throwing shit at me when I'm trying to think! Damn it!"

"I'm sorry. Let's just take a step back, take a little break. This might not be the time to start working on such an important subject."

"I'm not done yet!"

"Of course. I understand. We're not quite done. Just taking it down a bit. If you'd like to continue, I think we can both benefit from a slower pace, that's all. We won't stop until we've discussed everything you feel like talking about."

Ed nodded sharply without offering a response.

Gansworth kept right on talking to keep him engaged but not provoked, a droning sort of monologue that urged patience and cooperation to increase the certainty that things would work out for everyone in due time.

Havoc picked up on the doctor's tactics. The words were secondary; the man was lulling Ed with a boring monotone, keeping their connection open without setting off his defenses, desensitizing the conversation and redirecting it so that it became more theoretical. It almost begged for interruption.

The words sailed past as Ed struggling with guilt and frustration at his inability to simply stand up and walk out to meet his brother; it would have been easier if his caretakers were trying to stop him. The implication that he had been free to do so all along was devastating.

He didn't really believe it was possible. Yet he felt as guilty about not acting on it as if it was a well-known fact. Nothing added up. Nothing.

If they thought that this would distract him from finding out the truth, they were dead wrong. If he asked enough questions, he could arrive at his own conclusions.

"How bad did they hurt him once he got back in his body?" he challenged.

Gansworth only skipped the half-beat it took to stop in mid-sentence and take a new breath before replying.

"Keep in mind that Alphonse has been with us here since the two of you retrieved his body. They never touched him at all."

Ed's brows furrowed. In his muddied memory, the soul-searing impact of his brother's screaming was sharp and clear. Someone had hurt him. And he had fought to defend him.

"Then, who did? Who hurt him?"

"No one hurt your brother. Since he's been here, he did get a slight wound from a small animal, but it's all healed up and he's fine. Nothing to worry about. No person has harmed him in the least."

_Now I know they're lying somehow_, Ed grimaced inwardly. He turned and inhaled deeply with his face touching Havoc's sleeve to confirm who was treating him this way. His own people. And yet, for some reason, they were lying.

He lifted his head and feigned agreement, hoping to look reasonable and composed. He needed the fail-safe. He needed the pen in case all of this was some trick to stop him from trading his life for Al's.

"I should write to him properly, then. Right? That would be the thing to do."

Ed's hand came out, just barely, open and waiting.

Gansworth gave him back the pad and pen, growing a little more concerned. The open give-and-take of their interaction was gone. For whatever reason, the door had closed, and Ed was acting as a loner once more. They were back to square one, with another pathetic attempt to get the pen, implying that for all of their discussion, the troubled young man was once again arriving at self-sacrifice as the solution to his problems.

"You can ask him yourself if you like, Edward. In writing is fine. You can write whatever you choose to. You can ask how he feels, and you can tell him how you feel. You should. It's important that the two of you communicate."

Ed clutched the paper and tried to quiet his racing thoughts. He went to write but his hand went heavy and refused to cooperate. He fumbled with switching hands, getting the pad to rest on his thigh and wedging the pen in the automail grip.

_How I feel? I just want this device so that I can make my transmutation circles. I just want to have the answer, without asking any more questions. I don't know what to write to make it look like I'm doing what he asks. That's too hard. I don't know what a normal person would write. I can't remember what being normal is like. Trying to imagine it makes me dizzy and sick and it feels like I'm slipping and falling off a cliff. I can't do it. But I have to try._

It made him suddenly, almost irresistibly exhausted when he bent to start again. His head drooped and the world started to get fuzzy; he kept forgetting to breathe while reaching way deep inside, hoping to connect with some semblance of stability.

A voice, accusing and harsh, rang in his head. "Brother!"

Ed startled hard. Al's disembodied voice was terrifying, and that feeling was so confusing he could barely maintain a steady front.

He resorted to making frantic little squares on the pad, afraid of blanking out if he tried to think of real words again. After the limited space was full, he stopped, at a loss for what to do next.

"Are you finished? May I see what you've written?" Gansworth asked.

"It's personal, it's personal!" Ed shot back, hiding the pad against his chest. "I'm not done! I need to think more. I'm gonna keep this and work on it later!"

Gansworth was one step ahead of him.

"I'm sorry, Edward, but I'm afraid not. Patients aren't allowed to have writing instruments in their possession; nothing personal, it's just a safety policy. Besides, I need that to sign off on my charts. But if you're serious about this, maybe I can stretch the rules enough to provide you with larger paper and a wax crayon. It may be a bit awkward, but it would do the job. Is that something you'd like? "

A crayon wouldn't make a decent mark on his body; it would not be sufficient to create the multiple complex transmutation circles. Confronted with the uselessness of his attempt, Ed let the pad and pen fall to the floor and covered his face with his hands instead.

"You ruin everything," he mouthed silently.

Gansworth secured the items with a troubled glance at the nonsense inked there. Although he didn't trust Ed enough to let him keep the pen, he had thought that the boy was more functional than this.

The pen was giving his young patient fits. He wanted it so badly, but once he had it, perhaps it was so provoking that he couldn't control his behavior well enough to hang on to it. It was likely an indication of just how unsure Edward was of his situation, and especially that of his brother's. There was more than a grain of potential worth in Mustang's bullheaded insistence that the boys would derive more benefit from being together than they would harm.

Things were more or less stable at the moment. Ed was slowing down, unhappy perhaps, but quiet about it. He was making small, startled motions at irregular intervals when he caught himself dropping off into sleep. It took a determined fellow to still be upright at this point, Gansworth judged. From the handful of hysterical fits that he had witnessed in his career, they weren't much different than a seizure in that they left the victim exhausted and off-balance for some time afterward. Now that it was easier to hear, the young man's breathing was starting to sound a little rough and slightly congested. No doubt his immune system was being taxed from the constant stress. Time to start him back on antihistamines before complications developed.

Another subtle switch had taken place and Ed was focused on the Major, tossing up questions but quietly now, as if he had forgotten to inquire. Did Al sleep now? On a bed? Did he eat? Was he well? What color was his hair? His eyes? Was he tall? How much did he weigh?

Armstrong took notice, moving in closer and patiently delivering reassuring answers while coaxing Ed back down to rest. He felt considerable relief that the doctor seemed to be all through with his monumentally aggravating visit. So far, he had been able to reconnect with Ed after these sessions, no matter how disturbing or estranging they became. But there was always that chance that the doctor would hit nerves and uncover memories that would push the boy out of his reach.

That certainly wasn't the case now. Ed maneuvered himself against the steely upper torso of the worried alchemist as soon as the man sat down on the edge of the bed, and buried his head into the folds of uniform in an attempt to find a spot he wasn't likely to slip out of if he fell asleep. The Major settled in for the duration, gladly fulfilling his role as safety net once more.

Ed felt like it was getting a little clearer now. The pen and the self-transmutation were incredibly attractive because it was so simple and final. It made for a neat little path out of the writhing, senseless insanity corrupting every thought process and every attempt to negotiate the booby-trapped rat maze of his memories.

It wasn't simple, and it wasn't the answer. The question wasn't even the same any more at this point. As much as distrust was a part of his very soul now, he couldn't help believing that the Major wouldn't lie, and neither would Havoc. They actually had someone in custody that they thought was Al. This person's described physical traits all matched Al's, and the Major only saw the suit of armor, so he couldn't simply make it all up. This revelation trumped all the other wildly diverse paths he'd been considering to recover Alphonse.

The blue cloth was warm, and the rumbling rise and fall of the Major's chest was such a comforting motion to lean against. Someone so strong and aware shouldn't be fooled easily.

There was that one recurring dream among the many, or at least, he had thought that it was a dream, where he had unearthed Al and helped open the gate. The head-splitting rush of pure knowledge, the transactions with Al's body, and a fight between them might really have happened. That patch of clarity in the midst of insanity might have been a function of the influence of the Gate - not the imagination of REM sleep.

Armstrong suddenly felt real, in a way that was impossible to explain, and the room had meaning in a way it had not up until now - as a real place physically existing in a familiar geographical location. The moments had the sensation of present tense, a feeling of knowing the time of day and season of the year.

The experience of unremarkable, normal perception was shocking. It was so far removed from the way he existed now that he barely recognized it for what it was. It didn't last very long, and when it faded he made no effort to sustain it. It blinked out completely when the Major's careful application of salve to his shoulder riled up the pain and new priorities took over. The monumentally important sighting of his 'normal' self was assigned low priority over self-preservation by the instincts running the show.

The subject of his brother pushed away, too, and he had little to contemplate but the pain and the sensation of the material of the coat, giving him an anchor to cling to while his overtaxed mind and body called it quits in the fight against sleep.

The doctor stepped back to polish his glasses and observe. It was impossible to tell if this impromptu session had been progress or just more painful muddling about. Only time would tell. Torn between so many urgencies, this was becoming a killer job. From the last report, he should have just enough time to fit in an hour or so with Alphonse before the automail mechanic and the corpses arrived.

He nearly forgot that the Colonel had been with him when he went to Ed's room earlier. There was no sign of him in the hall now. Where the hell had he gone, without saying anything? The man was a superior officer, and he did take more than the usual interest in the well-being of his men, but he certainly was aggravating to work with at times.

The whole place was mad as a hatter, and he wasn't feeling like an exception to that rule at the moment.

The walk was too brief but it was all the prep time he could afford, a little time to shift gears and remember the important points to go over with the younger Elric. His hand brushed the bent pad in his pocket, contemplating the possible reactions should he actually deliver the rudimentary note to its addressee.

Keep it simple, keep it honest, convey the facts. Take the feedback, answer the questions, lay down the ground rules. Provide structure and stability. Watch for aberrations and avoid confrontation, especially with this patient, who is still plagued with sudden, uncontrollable bouts of rage and violent behavior.

Out of time, he straightened his coat and nodded to Al's current guard, ready to submit to the security process for what seemed like the the millionth time.

xxxxxxx

"I would like to discuss something with you before we move on into session, Alphonse," Gansworth smiled, surprising himself with his own collected calm. Moments ago he'd felt a little breathless, hustling here and knowing that the day still had worse thing in store. But entering the boy's captive area brought him into the moment soundly. This required his full concentration.

Alphonse appeared to be calm and ready for his session. He always tried to cooperate when he was in control and capable of it. He was what Dr. Gansworth would have considered to be the quintessential "good boy". It made the PTSD that much harder on him; his guilt from the inability to make himself straighten up and fly right was enormous. It made it that much harder to present him with stressors, when what he needed most was the opportunity to gather his life back up without any further trauma.

Life was, of course, not at all ready to give any of them a break for long.

"Before?" Al puzzled.

"Yes, well…actually, I'm fairly certain that this will pre-empt most of it."

Al nodded warily.

"You 're going to have a visitor. I'm telling you this ahead of time so that you can prepare yourself. Now, wait, don't jump to conclusions. Hear me out."

"Who?"

"She's your friend and Edward's automail mech-"

"Winry!" Al gasped. "Winry, Winry's here?"

"She's not here now, but she will be very soon."

"She's going to be here?" His heart was pounding wildly with emotions that threatened to erupt in all directions. In near-panic he struggled to get a grip on them. This was wonderful and devastating and potentially awful. They weren't supposed to be upsetting her, yet they were forever dragging her though the worst of their melodramas. He should think of some way to spin this before he had to face her, some way to convince her that they were fine and she shouldn't worry.

He had no idea how he would do that. Cowardly as it was, his strongest gut reaction to the news of her visit was the desperate hope that she was coming to save him. Them. Hell, his first reaction didn't even take Ed into account.

He took it as another sign that he was still devolving into something that didn't really deserve to be saved.

"How much does she know? About us? And this?"

"I would guess she knows the basic turns of events. I do know that she was to be told about the unfortunate situation while you were lost."

"Oh…" Al grimaced. She was going be upset, then. She would be anxious to see that they were all right. It was only natural.

"I'm not sure how to handle this, Alphonse. I have a task at hand and I won't be available for some time. Miss Rockbell will be here and I dislike delaying your reunion, but it's important that we address any issues that come up if the visit is too unsettling. I can give you a choice. You can take a single dose of your calmative medication, and Lieutenant Havoc can supervise; or, you can wait until I have a chance to sit in on your first meeting."

"No, please, don't make me wait. I'll do whatever you say. Just, please…I want to see her right away."

"You should do well enough if you take your medication. What are your initial impressions? What do you envision for this visit? More importantly, how do you feel about hearing this right now?"

Al stared back, shaking his head. "Overwhelmed. I can't believe it. It's like the world just reappeared outside of this place."

"And is that good?"

"Well, yeah! Except…" Al was still shaking his head.

"Except?"

"It feels so…I just suddenly feel so much pressure. I'm really going to have to be careful."

"Careful of what?"

"Well, we agreed. Ed and I. We weren't going to make her worry, or cry. We were supposed to make the world sa…" he choked up, then took a deep breath. "We were supposed to make the world safe for everyone. For her, especially. Ridiculous, right? It was stupid to believe that we could actually pull that off. The world crushed us without missing a beat. And now things are worse than ever."

"Is that how you see it? Please, Alphonse, go on."

"So now I…I mean this is great news, great news! But, well, I have to think of what to say to her. I have to think fast, I have to act normal. I mean, I can't do anything about Brother. It's going to upset her so much to see him. But at least I can make sure that she doesn't have to worry about me ."

"Well, the medication will help you to appear to feel better than you do. I hope that you'll reconsider the rest, though. Your friend is coming into this situation with her eyes open. Being honest is a type of kindness, even if the information you convey is not pleasant. You may have forgotten that she saw Edward when his life was still in grave danger, and that she was still able to deal with his medical issues and perform capably as his bio-mechanic. You may want to consider whether you're being fair when you predetermine that she needs to be sheltered. Especially when it involves deceit."

"I'm still gonna try my hardest. I'm not gonna blubber all over her if I can help it."

"Is that how it feels, then? Like you might cry when you see her?"

Al blushed. "Yeah. It feels like I could start right now. I mean this is good, it's really good, but it's like a shock, I'm freaking out. And what is that, that's lower than dirt. It's so weak and childish. It's probably Ed she came to see anyway. Here I'm getting all worked up and it's supposed to be about Ed. She's coming about his automail, right? Gah, I'm so pathetic."

"Just listen a moment. First, let me apologize, I know that this is indeed a shock to you, even if it is good news. I'm sorry this is coming at you so suddenly. Don't beat yourself up because you're experiencing anxiety. It's a perfectly normal reaction."

"Second, she's definitely coming to see you, as well as to see Edward and address those automail issues you pointed out. I want you to realize that right now, right at this moment, you're jumping around to a lot of conclusions. Now, that's understandable given the circumstances. But we've discussed many times how your excessive mental activity can work against you. Instead of processing information, you get tangled up in your initial reactions. That's why the medication will be helpful here. So let's get that going now, shall we? You should have an easier time preparing yourself without getting upset. And taking it now will give you a chance to bounce back a bit - if it makes you too drowsy when it first hits, you can have a few minutes to nap before she arrives."

"She'll be here that soon?" It was all the prompting he needed; the pill was swallowed as soon as it was placed in his hand.

"Yes. Very soon. Are you all right with this now? We can postpone it if you need more time."

"No, no I'm okay." Al nodded, squaring his shoulders, determined to suck it up.

"Drink all of the water, please. The medication is harder on your kidneys if you don't hydrate sufficiently."

"Heh. Sometimes I forget you're a 'doctor' doctor, too. Until you say things like that."

After retrieving the empty water bottle, Gansworth sighed, steeling himself before handing Al the ragged note.

"What is this?"

"Ed's first attempt at a note to you. It's a therapeutic exercise. But I thought you might want to see it."

"He wrote to me?" Al stared at the abused paper, floored again. "He understands that I'm here now?"

"Not exactly. He wrote this at my direction. He still struggles with the concept of your restoration. This is to familiarize him with the idea that you are indeed here. He was willing to do this much. It's a step in the right direction. And I thought it might help if I showed you some evidence that we are trying. We're still working towards the goal of bringing the two of you back together."

"Can I keep it?" Al asked breathlessly.

"Of course. You may write back, as well. This is going to sound odd, but I'm going to give you a crayon to use for that purpose. It's all that he is allowed to have, so it's better if he sees that you're using the same media. We don't want to highlight the fact that you're less restricted. We did try, but as you can see, he's not gentle with the pen, and it does have somewhat of a potentially dangerous point. He could injure himself with it and it's best if he uses something safer."

"Look, get me a crayon, and I'll write to him. I thought about writing a note to him before. But I didn't think you'd give it to him."

"Just understand that it won't be private and I can't guarantee that I'll be able to give it to him. The content has to be something he can handle. I'll have to make certain before I pass it on. I predict that it will be a shock to him initially, just seeing a word or two and knowing that you wrote it with your own hand. Let's get over that hurdle before you really express yourself."

Al rubbed his face fiercely, irritated in spite of himself at the slight numbing from the medication starting up already. The note was a shock to him so of course it would have even more impact on Ed. This was so much to take in all at once, with such short notice. It was hard to drag his mind away from the vision of Ed, struggling to gouge crude letters into the paper. Ed, who always had a light touch with a pen, feathery near-fussy handwriting, and wickedly accurate drawing skills. You only had to see one of his complex alchemic arrays to realize how amazing his artistry was.

This was no time to be contemplating that, what with Winry arriving at any minute. The doctor was staring at him, waiting for him to carry on a conversation about this; maybe to distract him, maybe to kill time. He had to focus, though. If he couldn't interact properly, the doctor would make him wait, and that would be unbearable.

He directed his concentration on the practical side of their meeting. Gansworth would be leaving before she got here. If he slipped, if his self-control didn't hold up, the only one who knew him well enough to intervene in time was Havoc.

"You said the Lieutenant would be here."

"He will be. I'll make sure he's here before I leave."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Al, I want you to put your hands down now and unclench them. Open them up. Let's go into your self-relaxation exercise."

"Not now!" he snapped irritably.

"Yes. Especially now. We're going to start with the breathing."

Al was up and across the room, leaning out of the doorway to scan the empty hall.

"Al. Come back and sit down. I know you're feeling a lot of anxiety right now. If you expect me to allow this visit now, I need to see better self-control."

"Eh!" Al growled, stomping and plopping down while biting back a retort. The feeling of being jerked on a chain riled up considerable anger. If this guy tried to leave before the Lieutenant got here, he'd…he'd…

"Alphonse. Remember the process. Information is just information. The impact comes when you react to what you hear. You have control. It's vital that you learn how to manage your reactions so that you aren't causing harm to yourself or others." He was relieved to see his patient exhale and avert his eyes. Without the Lieutenant in the room, Al was capable of becoming quite a handful, even though his physical recovery was far from complete.

"I know! I know!"

"Thank you. As soon as you're ready, we'll go through the steps." Gansworth checked his watch and frowned, listening for Havoc's much-needed return. He sincerely hoped that Ms. Rockbell's emotional composition was as sturdy as the Colonel described it.

_tbc_


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

"Al," her voice quavered. So much for the resolution not to cry in front of him. She'd repeated it to herself with every step as they led her through the stark maze of corridors. It was that last step, the one that took her through the doorway and brought him into view, that did her in. This thin, almost frail young man had to be Alphonse. But she never dreamed of seeing such an expression on his face. His pain radiated from clear across the room, from the heat in his enormous eyes to the stiffness in his trembling chin. Even when his mother died, the quality of that devastation looked nothing like this.

He lunged up unsteadily to close the distance between them. She'd frozen just past the threshold, staring, and he felt a deep ache rivaling his joy. The proof of his ineptitude was spilling down her precious cheeks. She shouldn't have to cry, and never for him. He floundered in her presence instantly, anxious to quell her tears and unable to think of the first thing to do about it. He only knew that above all, he had to touch her to be absolutely certain that she was real.

Well warned by the Sergeant on the trip here, and peppered with worrisome cautions by the doctor that met their motorcade, her breath caught when he came at her so quickly without a smile or indication that he was happy to see her.

Havoc was right there, getting a hand on Al to steady him and prevent any inappropriate behavior.

"Win…Winry."

"You're alive," she whispered, and despite the warnings and the briefings and the advice to the contrary, she held out her arms. There was no other choice once she actually saw him in the flesh - the urge to comfort him was overpowering. At first glance the wretched soul bore only a passing resemblance to the energetic, earnest and healthy little boy she had once known. But one look in his eyes cemented her conviction that this truly was Al.

He fell into her embrace, bending over slightly to compensate for his greater height.

"Even more, now that you're here." The warmth and softness of her grasp was dizzying. He was glad that no one could see his face as he forced himself to be equally gentle; resisting the mad impulse to hold her so tightly that she could never get away. Several expressions warred across his features, and the tears burning for release overwhelmed his self-control.

"I'm so glad. I can't believe it. It's so good to hear your voice, Al. I didn't think that I would ever hear it again," she said.

His grip grew much tighter.

She groped for her next words, searching for something light, something upbeat. "But Al, you've gotten so tall!"

She tried pulling away gently, because it sounded like he was struggling for air. He held on and the awkward movements alerted Havoc.

"Hey, Al, loosen up buddy. She's not going anywhere." Havoc stepped forward and Winry shifted protectively to prevent him from interfering.

"It's okay. I was just trying to see if he was all right. I don't mind. Al?"

In an act of tremendous will, he forced his arms to come apart and set her free. It felt like the flesh was ripping from his bones, and it was even harder to find air in the tiny room. The smile he tried for didn't last more than a moment.

"Ohmygosh!" Winry grabbed him when she saw his face. He looked close to passing out.

Al shook his head to clear it; and his weight shifted precariously until Havoc's strong arms took over.

"Let's sit you two down over here."

Al blushed at the location - Havoc had them both sitting on the edge of the bed. There wasn't much choice, given that the Doctor and Havoc had picked his room as their meeting place. He guessed that it was purposeful, to make it easier to deal with him if he lost control. He clasped his hands together to make sure they behaved.

"Al, I'm sorry it took me so long to come and see you. I didn't know or I would have been here right away." Winry rubbed his back gently in support, surreptitiously feeling the angles and ridges of the bones. It was a habit that she had, back before he lost his body, to punch one of his sturdy shoulder blades with all her might when she needed to take out some frustration. Usually, it was because of something annoying that Ed said or did. She was secure that the tough little body wouldn't be any the worse for wear. He would always smile and laugh, but kindly, as if he understood, never laughing at her. He always seemed happy to be the one to help her work out her problems.

This bodyscape felt so foreign, so fragile - she wouldn't dare lay a hand on him with any force. Al had gone from robust boy to nearly impervious steel knight - and then to end up as vulnerable as this, after all he and Ed had been through. Even though there had been plenty of time to contemplate it on the way here, it was devastating to see in person. Al was amazing to have held up so well, but it looked like the Master Sergeant was right when he said that he was still facing a long recovery.

"You didn't know?" Al asked. "They didn't even tell you?"

"It's not like that. They tried to tell me. I didn't get the messages and mostly that was my fault - but that's not important now."

"So you're here to see Ed?" he asked, searching her face for her reaction. He always suspected that she liked Ed - a lot, and probably in a boy-girl kind of way - even though she would never admit it. When they fought for the right to call her their girlfriend, he sensed that she kept the preference for Brother to herself. But it didn't mean that he'd given up hope that things might change in time, after all the three of them still had so much growing up to do.

Old memories and feelings tripped and tangled in the thicket of new issues; it made for powerful reactions that begged for expression. Knowing that he might feel differently when the heat of the moment was spent didn't help. The rush of possessiveness was unexpected and grew more powerful every minute. He felt jealous that she might have been here to see Ed and was just passing time with him until she could. And he felt envious that she could just show up and be allowed to see Ed when he'd been waiting and getting jerked around for so long without getting the same privilege.

And that was so evil and wrong, when he should just be grateful that his friend was here to lend support. He suppressed those unpleasant emotions as best he could.

Her gaze dropped to the floor to avoid the strange look he was wearing. "That's right."

"They won't let…they can't let me see him yet."

"I heard. I'm sorry. I can imagine how hard that must be for you."

"Then I guess you'll be going to take care of him right away," his said in a darkening tone

"Not yet, Al. They want me to wait until Dr. Gansworth can be there. I guess Ed's still pretty…unpredictable."

"Oh. Well, sorry you have to wait."

She lifted her gaze and felt confused when he looked so grim and guilty. The atmosphere was cooling, growing strained. Her instincts normally directed her to react with disarming sarcasm and arm-punching when Al was troubled, to cheer him up. But now they warned her to be more sensitive to his emotional tone.

"Al, why should you apologize? It's totally not your fault. And it's okay, I think it's best that I see you first anyway. We're going to be spending a lot of time together if you can put up with me. I'm going to be here for a while."

"I didn't mean to whine. I don't make sense to myself sometimes."

"Geeze, Al give yourself a break. I can't believe how well you're doing. I mean, I admit they had me a little worried about how it would go today. But it feels so good to see you! I just hope it goes as well with Ed this time."

"No way did he know who you were when he tried to hurt you," Al blurted. "Winry. Brother could never hurt you on purpose!"

He could tell by her look that she hadn't expected him to know about the incident.

"Oh, Al…of course. I realize that. I don't hold it against him. At all."

"They told me a lot about his condition. I just can't see him yet because he gets too upset. He doesn't believe that it's me. He tried to hurt me, too. But I don't think he meant to. He thought it was a trick. That's probably what he thought when he saw you, too."

"Well…I don't think that was the problem. He couldn't reason at all back then, Al. That's why it's so amazing to think that he's already well enough to be living here on the base like you are."

Al looked to Havoc. He guessed that Winry's take on the situation was essentially true.

Havoc nodded. "He's got his own room here. He's been staying there for quite a while. For a time he even did some odd jobs at the library and such. But he's in a tougher stage of his recovery right now. We kind of have to keep someone with him all the time. Everything considered, he does pretty well. Maybe your help with the automail will do more than just make it easier for him to get around. When he's hurting, he has a harder time dealing with things around him and he's more likely to get withdrawn. "

"So he's been in a lot of pain? Is it from the arm or the leg?"

"Both. To me, the arm is the worst because it always hurts him; seems like the severity varies but it's always significant and he's never completely free of it. The leg doesn't bother him 100 percent of the time. We've been making an effort to get him back on track with his workouts, the Major gets him moving any time he's able. Ed tries as best he can. But it seems like he's just gotten too weak and the pain is too great. He needs less of a load to start out with, that's where you come in. Maybe he can switch back to the heavier pieces once he's built his body back up. That was what the doc was hoping for, anyways."

Winry nodded, smiling sadly at Al who had grown quiet in his attentiveness, possessive of any news about Edward.

"I was hoping that Brother would be getting some of his strength back by now."

She squeezed Al to her side in agreement. His eyes looked a little brighter when he gave her a sheepish blush and put an arm back around her as well.

"Doesn't matter. We'll just have to figure this out so that he can get back to being his old obnoxious self," she said with a firm nod.

Al chuckled, more a release of pressure from hearing her sound so normal and confident than amusement at her bold remark.

She smiled back in relief. Al's laugh was just the same! It was the very same little sound that gave him away when he thought he'd found the perfect spot for hide-n-go-seek. He never did figure out where her 'sixth sense' came from that made it so easy to find him every time. His hint of a smile made her want to squeeze him until he laughed outright, but she held back, just letting her expression show how good it was to be with him again.

"Oh my gosh," Al breathed.

"What is it?"

"Your smile." His arms wrapped her up in a careful, warm bear hug. He was so cautious, there wasn't anything he wanted more than to make her understand that she was safe with him, that if she was at all hesitant, he would back off immediately. She hugged back, steady and so warm. He could melt into her and stay there forever. He closed his eyes and carefully committed her smile to his permanent memory bank.

"I'd almost forgotten it," he said, muffled against her shoulder. "I've missed that smile."

A sigh trembled in her throat as she hugged a little tighter in return, patting his back.

"Dummy," she said, feeling the slight shake as he took her insult gladly.

Havoc was surprised at how smoothly things were going; after the initial shock the pair seemed to be able to connect with one another remarkably well. The majority of the tension dissipated quickly as soon as they sat down together this time. The atmosphere was already warm and familiar. He felt like he was invading their privacy a little, but he had a job to do. Al was doing quite well, but the kid was still unpredictable.

Planting his chair in the doorway, he watched the hall and the reunited friends for any sign of trouble. Time meandered by without any remarkable incidents. An hour passed, and Havoc marveled at the calm and relatively quiet visit.

The light tap of oncoming boots, right on schedule, heralded the appearance of Lieutenant Hawkeye. She smiled when Havoc nodded, eyebrows lofted to indicate things were going well.

Al and Winry were focused on the doorway by the time she stepped into view.

"Lieutenant!" Winry said, interrupted in the midst of bringing Al up to speed on the success story of the crops growing on the Elric property. "Hello! I was hoping I'd see you."

"Hi, how are you? Enjoying your visit?"

"Very much." She took Al's hand for a moment and squeezed it.

"They left your baggage by my desk. Let's get them and I'll escort you to your quarters now, if you don't mind. We'll get you situated and…Al, she can come right back. I just don't want anything to happen to her things. And it was a bit of a trip to get here. She might like to freshen up."

Al was visibly shaken to hear that she was leaving, but didn't object.

"Yeah. Al. I'll come back right away. Okay? She's right, I want to make sure that nothing happens to the equipment. But, are you sure, Lieutenant Hawkeye? I was planning to get a room already, there's an inn not too far from here. We stayed there before - you remember that one, huh, Al?"

Hawkeye kept smiling, but her voice sharpened. "I actually must insist. For everyone's peace of mind. I hope you understand."

Winry's polite smile turned a little sideways. If she was correct in reading between the lines of the Lieutenant's message, they should put any further discussion on hold until they got out of Al's room.

"I see. If it's what you think is best, then, okay. Let's go so we can get back. All right, Al? I'll make it quick."

Al shivered involuntarily as he nodded, head ducking down. Havoc was already next to him, a seamless change of position to get him in easy reach in case of trouble.

"You all right, Al?" Havoc asked as Winry rose uncertainly.

"Sure. Whatever." Al's voice had lost its warmth. He was looking straight down. The interruption in their visit was a physical jolt.

The barest glimmer of optimism had been budding in his chest from Winry's words. They inspired him with her resourcefulness, reminding him that the pursuit of scientific remedy to their self-inflicted catastrophe was only supposed to be a task, not a lifetime career. Normal things like building and growing and creating were options that were still open, even to a nearly-damned soul like himself.

Cut off from her words, the idea that he could follow her example seemed hollow and false. She could do things because she was special, because the talents were a part of her. It didn't mean that there was a way for him to simply step out of the dark spiraling path he and Ed were hopelessly committed to and follow her lead.

Havoc motioned to the door with a nod of his head, and the two women started for the hallway. Winry opened her mouth and both soldiers shook their heads emphatically. Al knew she was going, and she was returning right away. There was no benefit to drawing out her departure or calling more attention to it.

xxxxx

"I guess there's more you want to tell me?" Winry asked, a little uncertain since the Lieutenant remained silent well past the range where Al could overhear them.

"Here." The Lieutenant turned the key with a snap and held the door open. "Not exactly a guest room. But we thought that the workbench and tools might be valuable for your work. "

"Oh." It took a moment to locate the bed tucked in the corner of the austere, gray-walled workroom. It was a cot, really, with fresh government issue bedding. "Look, I can work in here, but I really don't have to stay to sleep at night. As I said…"

"Please. Miss Rockbell, I…"

"And why don't you call me Winry anymore?"

"Ah, it's been a while. Sorry." Hawkeye took a measured breath and started again. "Winry. I have to be direct with you. We don't want to have to go looking for you if there's an emergency after hours. And moreover, it's a security issue. Several, in fact. You don't have proper credentials for passing in and out of the compound, so there are a number of problems with that. And there's the matter of your physical safety. I don't want to alarm you unduly, but you do realize that we never caught the people who assaulted Edward."

"Mm." Winry acknowledged, sobered by the mention of Ed's ordeal. "So that's it. I understand. All right then."

"I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to take in all at once. We're very glad that you've come to help."

"So…was there something that you wanted to tell me that you couldn't in the other room?"

"Part of it is what I just told you. We try not to discuss security issues in front of the boys. Believe me, it would only upset them. Al is vaguely aware but it tends not to be his issue unless there's an actual incident. Ed is understandably hyper-sensitive about this subject and we avoid it at all costs. We just reassure him that he's safe."

Winry nodded.

"And the other thing is…I'm guessing that you noticed Al's behavior is a little off."

"Yes, a little. It's not too bad, though. It's better than I expected after all of those warnings the Sergeant gave me."

"He does seem to be doing well right now, but please be careful. His mood can turn on a dime. He has quite a temper now, sometimes to the point of losing control. We just want you to be aware and be sure that Lt. Havoc or one of the guards is there with you at all times. I know that the two of you are close, and if he tells you something, you'll want to believe him. But he's not always seeing things as they are."

"I'm not sure that I know what you mean, but all right. I'll be careful."

"I hope that I haven't worried you too much. You'll be safe here, we'll see to it. Please don't feel like you have to leave right after the automail work is done. We've set things up so that you can stay here indefinitely."

Winry frowned. "I'm not worried. And I'm not going to run off." The steely-eyed soldier wasn't very subtle in suggesting that she was a flight risk.

The Lieutenant's concerned look was irritating. She hadn't turned tail and simply abandoned Ed in personal fear from the threats; her worries had been about his well-being, not her own . It wasn't that she had decided to stay away forever. In fact, when she first stormed off, she naively believed that she would be coming right back to take Ed away from their miserable institution for good. But in the hard planning stage, the reality of Ed's behavioral and physical demands posed problems that had no easy answers. It was only after many months of frustration that she finally faced the facts: someone so severely deranged could not be maintained in her home, ongoing issues with his massive physical injuries aside.

A suitable civilian care facility didn't exist. None of the ones she inspected were any less of a horror show than the place he was already in. At least the military kept things spotlessly clean. The sickly unique rest home odor permeated every private establishment, no matter how attractively furnished, from the first step into the foyer. Several were positively disgusting in their inability to keep up with the sanitary needs of the adult patients who were incapable of self-care.

None of them had security capabilities equal by half to the challenge of a rampaging alchemist anyway.

Granny Pinako reacted by putting a size 4 foot firmly down when she shared her desperate design ideas for converting a room upstairs into a lock-up for his care. Granny cared for Ed, too, but expressed it in her own way by refusing to allow any such doomed effort. It was reality check time.

It took a long time to accept the hard facts, but her mind never stopped turning over the problem, albeit less and less often as the days went by. It was in his best interest for her to stay away until they dropped the obsession with removing the biological implants for his automail . It wasn't like he was going to miss her, so the ache was hers alone to bear.

The people here probably believed that she took off to get on with her life and forget about him. If anyone said that to her face, they'd better be ready to duck.

But she had to play nice now, more than ever. Because Al and Ed were both here, alive and struggling, and the situation had improved far beyond her hopes. The clear possibility of success cemented her determination to spend whatever time and effort it took to help them both come home and leave this breeding ground of nightmares behind.

"You haven't really said much about Ed."

"Once Dr. Gansworth has a better idea about his schedule he'll let us know when you can do your initial examination. Before you see Edward I'm certain that he'll want you to be well informed."

"That's not what I meant. I mean - how is he?"

"Oh. Ed's…he's made a lot of progress. A lot. He just has a long way to go, still."

The Lieutenant's answers were unsatisfying. She'd hoped for details, little somethings about his behavior that might indicate that he was getting back to his old self. Some reassurance that he was really doing as well as everyone said.

"Thanks. I just thought I should ask while we're here. I mean, in case you had any details that might be upsetting to Al."

"That s good thinking. Edward is a hot-button topic for him, of course. You're okay? Would you like to have a little time to yourself? It's all right if you want to get situated first."

"I do need to take care of this."

Winry shoved her toolbox against the heavy metal workbench and used the attached cable lock to secure it, along with the large aluminum case, to one of the legs. The toolbox and the case were already padlocked shut. There wasn't much she could do about securing the double-wrapped and bagged automail leg.

Hawkeye watched with folded arms.

"You can have this key. The room is secure. I maintain the only other key."

"That's good to know. Automail is a hot item on the black market these days. And some of my tools are irreplaceable." She explained away her distrust with a disarming smile and the wave of a hand. "So I always take extra precautions. There, that's good. That's all I wanted to do. I'd like to go right back now, actually. Al didn't seem very happy that I left."

Hawkeye nodded approvingly. "Good enough. Let's go."

Xxxxxxxx

"How long do you think they'll be?" Al asked, sitting back down after checking the hall for the umpteenth time.

"I really can't be sure. But she is coming back, try to be patient. And I'm sure she'll be spending a lot of time here. That is, just so long as you stay in control. So just chill out, I think you're doing fine so far."

"Man." Al rubbed his upper arms and shivered. "If she doesn't come back soon, I'm going to start thinking this was all a dream."

"How do you think you're holding up?"

"Okay, I guess. I dunno. Does it look like I am? To her, I mean?"

"Yeah, I'm impressed. I don't think I've seen you maintain such an even keel since you've been here." Actually, the most remarkable thing Havoc noticed was the sudden expansion of the warmth and vulnerability in the boy's personality. He knew that the Alphonse in the metal suit seemed like a pussycat compared to the hot and cold, sometimes hard-ass attitude of this flesh-and-blood version. When the chip came off his shoulder today, he was like a different kid altogether.

"Good. I don't want to give her any more reason to worry."

"Seems like you two are still pretty close. That's nice."

Al nodded, frowning. "Yeah. Man, it's so cold in here now."

"Well…it's not, really. Must be the meds."

"It's really gonna be hard to stay here when she leaves," Al blurted.

"You mean…"

"Leaves! To go home. I have to be here, because I have to be there for Ed. No way is he getting out any time soon. But she can't stay here forever."

"You're getting way ahead of yourself. She just got here. Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it?" Havoc settled cautiously next to Al, putting a hand on his back.

"You're right." Al shook his head. "I don't know what to do. I'm going to mess this up if I can't get things straight in my own mind."

"I haven't seen you mess up. Maybe you're just over-thinking things again, huh? Doc says that's a big part of your problem."

"No. This is…something he doesn't really know. Nobody does. I want to tell Winry, I mean I don't really want to, but it wants to come jumping out of my mouth, and I'm afraid that I'll slip."

"Let what slip?"

Al sagged as he exhaled, resigning himself. "I think I have to tell someone. It's the right thing to do. But not Winry. It wouldn't be fair. And not that damned doctor. I mean, I tried to tell him before - I did! But he just doesn't get it. I guess it sounds crazy and he just writes it off as more crazy talk. But I have to tell someone who'll take it seriously. Someone has to know."

"So…then you can tell me, because you know I'm gonna listen and try to understand. Right?" Havoc gave his charge a pat on the back. "We said we were kind of like family now, huh? And you know I'm tough. Whatever it is, I can take it."

"Ah…" Al hesitated.

Havoc went with his instinct, the strong one that told him that whatever was eating Al, it needed to be revealed before it came out in some form of unpleasant behavior.

"Al, come on, you should tell me. In my family, a big brother is someone you can count on to really listen when you have a problem. It's the least I can do for you."

The corner of Al's mouth tweaked up in spite of the serious nature of the conversation. "When you put it that way, I guess I can tell you. It'll be just between you and me. Unless I get out of control or something."

Havoc waited, fixing patience on his face while worrying now that Winry might show up at any minute and interrupt.

Al found that it didn't come easily. As many times as he'd turned it over in his head, it was still hard to know where to start, or how to explain it at all.

"It has to do with when I went to the Gate. I met up with my body, and it wasn't just lying there, you know? It wasn't asleep or unconscious. It was looking right at me. Even though I wasn't in it. Now I am, I am in it, but I don't have the memory of how that worked. I don't know what was in here, and where did it go when I came back? What was looking at me when I was still bonded to the armor?"

"Whoa. I can see why that would bother you. You're thinking that something else lived in your body while you were gone? Like the way you were living in the armor?"

"It's not just that."

Havoc saw fear glinting in Al's wide, liquid eyes.

"What is it? You can tell me. Let me help. I don't know if I can, but I'll sure try." Havoc cursed inwardly at the distant shuffle in the hall. If they were interrupted now, who knew when or if Al would decide to share this again.

The boy hadn't noticed the approaching sound. He was gripping his elbows, wincing in preparation for Havoc's reaction, ready in case the man was duty-bound to take him into restraints and full restrictive custody.

He had to tell him. Winry wasn't safe with Havoc in the dark about this. Whatever came of this confession, he'd just have to deal with it.

"I think my body had another soul in it. Maybe even an evil soul."

Havoc was thinking fast. He knew from experience that the sound of the footsteps had reached the point where the people would be visible at the far end of the hall. "One second. One second Al. Let me check something. Don't lose that thought." He darted up and just out the door, spotting the source of the noise well down the corridor as expected. He held up a hand to Hawkeye, silently motioning to them while positioned just out of Al's sight, nodding in relieved confirmation when she pointed in the direction of the Colonel's office and whisked Winry away without a word.

"What?" Al asked, starting to rise. "Are they back?

"It's nothing, nothing," Havoc insisted, waving his hands dismissively to emphasize that Al should stay where he was. "Just checking the hall, it's all right. Gotta do that every so often, I just wanted to get it out of the way so we can talk. Go on, Al. Your body had another soul in it? How do you know?"

Al nodded grimly as the Lieutenant sat down and put an arm around him again.

"I don't have any proof. I just feel it. When I saw it at the Gate, my body was moving around, it looked at me, and it didn't look right. And now, now that I'm back in here, sometimes when I look in the mirror that face doesn't look right. The stuff I do doesn't feel right. I get so angry that I wonder if I'm being possessed. I wasn't trying to keep it a complete secret, but I didn't want to tell anybody else but the doctor, because I'm worried that if the Colonel hears about it he might keep me from seeing Ed."

"I'm glad you told me, Al. I know that you have some problems staying in control, but from what I've seen I don't think you're possessed. Does it really feel like there's someone else inside you?"

"Well…I don't know. I mean, I don't hear someone else's thoughts or voice or anything like that. But everything gets so out of control. You have to watch me, you have to make sure I don't do anything bad to Winry. And, I mean, isn't that wrong? Doesn't that prove something? That's not me. I shouldn't even be thinking the I would ever do anything like that. That's just not me at all."

"Hey. Al. Look at me." Havoc put a hand on Al's shoulder, catching the boy's uncertain, flickering eyes, meeting him with a calm and open gaze. "I know you're not used to losing control. And I know that you're a good kid. So good that you're willing to risk your freedom to make sure that your friend is safe. I haven't seen anything evil in you yet, and I think that I would have by now, don't you?"

"I know it sounds crazy. But I'm serious. I'm…I'm…"

"Scared. I can tell. Right?"

Al nodded.

"See? I'm paying attention. I see more than you think I do. And you've told me bits and pieces of this before, so I've kind of had an idea, just not in this kind of detail. I'm already on it, Al. I've had your back for a while now."

"Yeah, I guess. It's just that, it doesn't change the way it feels. Except now you think I'm more screwed up in the head." Al's shoulder's drooped. He expected to feel different after finally getting this confession out, some release from the pressure of keeping the secret. Maybe it was because Havoc didn't seem to share his fear. He didn't appear to be alarmed at all.

"I'll make an extra effort to watch you for any changes. I promise. Anything in particular I should be looking for?"

Al shrugged and eased a little as Havoc's powerful hand began squeezing and rubbing the rigid band of muscle at the base of his neck. "Just look out when I get mad. Watch for what I might do. That's all I can think of."

"Okay, then. You try and relax a little. I'm not going to let you do anything bad. You can trust me."

"I know I can. That's why I decided to tell you."

"You're getting better at controlling yourself. Concentrate on that. I mean, if your anger all comes from some creep at the gate, how does that explain the way you were when we dug you up? That was the worst episode you've had, and not only was it before the trip to gate, it was without your body."

Al's eyes clouded as his thoughts turned back again, searching that space in time for answers.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right, I didn't think of that. And I've been having another thought that I can't shake. I keep thinking it's something that happened with Brother at the gate that's interfering with my alchemy."

"And you still haven't been able to transmute anything? Nothing at all?"

"I don't know. I tried to fix Brother's automail that time and nothing happened. When I tried to bring the arrays up in my mind, the ones that use my body as a circle, I couldn't think of them. I can't think of them now. I thought that the problem might be something about the difference between being in the armor and this. But now I'm not so sure."

"Can you do it the regular way? You, know, like the Colonel and Major Armstrong?"

Al shrugged. "It's been forbidden, remember? So I haven't tried it. It's not like I have time alone to experiment when no one is looking. Not that I'm complaining!" he added hastily.

"Got it. Geeze, and you've been keeping all that bottled up on top of everything else. At least you've got it off of your chest and we can deal with it." He kept moving his hands, working the hard muscles without making significant headway in loosening them. He would have stopped, except that it seemed to soften the worried look on Al's face.

"I don't know if anybody can deal with an evil soul."

"Even if that's what it is, there's got to be something we can do about it. Just don't keep the details to yourself. We can figure it out together. Trust me, okay?"

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

"Jean," Havoc corrected with a friendly poke in the ribs.

"Jean. Where are they?"

Havoc sighed, glad that their conversation was back on more solid ground. He glanced at his watch. It was close to ten minutes ago that he held up two open hands with fingers splayed to Riza indicating they needed as many more minutes. Knowing her, they would be back momentarily.

"As a matter of fact, I think I hear them now."

"Go look!"

"Don't boss me around, punk." The taller blond reached up to muss Al's hair, missing when he dodged.

"Hey, don't mess up my hair!"

"The ladies like it messy, don't you know that?" Havoc teased as strolled to the doorway, letting it appear that he was startled when Al followed silently and gave his head a decisive scruffle in revenge. "Hey!"

"Just helping you with the Lieutenant."

"Thanks a lot. She has zero interest in this boy. Messy hair isn't gonna do it."

"She's pretty, though, huh? Maybe you should try…"

Havoc held up his hands, signaling for silence with a touch of urgency. The women were almost to the doorway.

"Geeze, don't say anything about that! You'll get me shot!" Havoc whispered wide-eyed.

Al couldn't help smiling, a sight that fostered happy, slightly surprised expressions on the two ladies as they entered.

"Al! I'm back!" Winry rushed in to join him, relieved.

Hawkeye kept smiling but never missed a beat as she muttered to her colleague under her breath.

"You two are up to something."

Havoc blinked at her in innocent denial, casually arranging his hair back into place with his fingers.

xxxxxxxx

"You never get used to this smell. But this seems worse somehow. Hand me the mentholated mask, will you?" Gansworth grimaced; his own odor-masking cream wasn't making a dent against the stench, and he'd slathered it below his nose three times over already.

"I told ya it was extra nasty. This is the last one. Sure wish we had a deep freeze here. It would help some."

"I don't know what the Colonel expects. Miracles, perhaps? What is there to glean from these shreds? I'm guessing that we'll find that they were in close range of some sort of powerful fragmentation device. Were any of them I.D.'d?"

"No, sir. There were several intact bodies with I.D.'s, according to the locals, but the whole bunch disappeared in the night just before we got there, along with the men that were guarding them. The only one left with all of its body parts is on the gurney, but it's civilian apparently, a woman that probably died of disease. That's why she's been double-bagged and red-tagged separately. Hardly any visible fresh wounds, although she has tons of scars that are real doozies. Looked more like she'd been ill."

"Really? No fresh wounds?"

"Nothing life-threatening. She'd been in some kind of serious accident or attack at some point in the past, it looks like. But no apparent traumatic cause of death."

"Useless. I have to talk to Mustang." He approached the first body prepped on the table. "Let's get this over with. I have the living to attend to."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Let's not rush it, lad. You'll be up to it soon."

"Major," Ed muttered, leaning against the hulking officer. "You say it's true. You say it's true. I shouldn't make him wait anymore."

"I know." Armstrong's brow furrowed. Ed was starting to ask more questions, exploring the idea that Al might be alive, and it was causing him a lot of anxiety. He couldn't sit still for a moment all morning. He choked down part of his breakfast because he had to "get stronger to find out the truth about Al." And he kept making aborted attempts to leave the room, getting as far as the doorway before his fear forced him back.

All in all, not a very good start for the day.

Now they were facing a greatly delayed trip down to the lavatory, and while Ed really needed to go soon, he got confused and upset each time they stepped into the hall and dodged back into the room instead, resisting the Major's guidance.

Tucked firmly under Armstrong's solid arm and with the infusion bag on a sling across his neck, Ed was as prepared as he was going to get. The Major had his change of clothes rolled up and in hand; he'd determined that it was time to take control and follow through so they could get this over with, whether he had full cooperation or not.

"Let just concentrate on the matter at hand, Edward. This is just your morning trip to the facility. Time to get cleaned up and ready for the day."

"Okay." As with the last few tries, he agreed, starting out with good intentions and chastising himself for being such a baby. When he balked a few steps into the trip, the Major paused but didn't let him retreat this time. The burly alchemist took command and after a moment moved them onward, even though Ed's planted feet were sliding at first.

Armstrong was doing most of the work, moving them both down the hall, until the door to their destination came in sight. Ed straightened suddenly and pushed away, getting steady walking on his own.

His anxiety at being out in the open had finally eased up by this stage of the trip. It allowed the other thing chewing at his mind to take the upper hand.

"Easy, lad."

"Don't hold onto me like that." He scanned the hall, berating himself. He should turn this place upside down if Al was here somewhere. What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't walk from point 'A' to point 'B' on his own anymore? After all the incredible shit that nearly did them both in, the thing that was insurmountable now was his fear of moving from room to room in a secure military installation? His anger turned inward, and an anomaly of stubborn strength and courage bubbled up, driving him to act.

"All right, Edward, I won't. Let's keep moving ahead, though." He was ready to intervene if Ed tried to return to his room. They'd come this far, he was reasonably certain that he could retake control and get things taken care of if Ed got balky. He was setting himself up for another bladder infection if he kept refusing to relieve himself.

Ed's answer was to stumble forward, watchful that the Major kept his hands away.

The Major's relief was short-lived when they went past the door marked "Men" and the pace picked up.

"Edward! Hold on. Where are you going? Let's stop in here first. If you want to see the Colonel, we can do that afterward."

Ed kept going, making better speed than Armstrong would have thought him capable of, batting off the large hands when they came close. He stopped only for a moment before taking the intersecting corridor to the left.

"Gonna…I'm gonna see him."

It was not the right direction to see the Colonel. It hit him from the tone in Ed's voice - he was still thinking of looking for someone else.

Armstrong followed closely, poised to act but hoping to convince him to stop with words. A little walking wouldn't hurt if only he'd waited until after they'd taken care of business. Ed wasn't good for a long stretch out of his room, and it was always hard to get him to clean up properly before the urge to get back to his secure spot got overwhelming. He didn't want to let him roam now, and end up paying for it with a missed shower later.

"He's not even in this direction, lad. Come on back here, let's talk about this after you're changed. You can take your walk then."

The muffled clank-duff echoes of the boy's odd gait started up again and didn't falter. He just shook his head and reached out for the wall at the next corner, taking a deep breath and fighting to stay brave enough to decide which way to turn and keep going.

Armstrong's comfort level was dropping fast. They were nearing the greater common areas, frequented by many soldiers. If they went much further this way, the offices up on the next corridor would have lots of people in them, and Ed wouldn't be familiar with most of them.

"Edward. You need to listen to me and stop. Don't go any further. You're going the wrong way."

You big chicken-shit, Ed snarled at himself. Wimp! Loser! Keep going! You have to check every room in this building before you know for sure! He slowed despite his own urging. He did hear sounds, a general level of noise associated with people doing everyday things. It loomed just around the next corner.

He stopped just shy, fighting but unable to take the next step. People were there, without a doubt. If he took that step, he might see them. Worse, they might see him.

"That's it, Edward, thank you for stopping," the Major sighed. "Let's go back now."

Ed swallowed hard. Armstrong was still giving him space, giving him a chance to come back on his own.

The commotion of approaching feet sent him stiffly upright, near to panic. It was nothing in comparison to the shock of the voices that echoed around the corner.

"Hey, Alphonse, slow down!" Havoc's disembodied voice rang out, far too close.

The Major was there with him in an instant, gripping Ed by the elbow to prevent him from pursuing that sound, but there was no need. The slight figure had frozen, staring into the soon to be disturbed empty space ahead.

The surroundings blurred away as the owner of the noisy footfalls came into view. The familiar features of the boy seemed to have an inner light of their own, an unearthly apparition on a blank background, burning into his soul.

_The hair color. The eyes. _

He reeled with the force of the image, blasting past his retinas straight through his brain to slam into his heart with near-physical impact. His mind grappled for control, overwhelmed in the attempting to reconcile the barrage of emotional reactions with the gut-wrenching shock of standing in the same physical space and time with his brother's restored human body. The stress reached critical mass in mere seconds, exploding his consciousness, leaving nothing functional except for a shred of standby that kept his body from collapsing to the floor.

Al gasped when he cleared the corner and glanced to his right. His eyes went wide and he stumbled, nearly falling.

Ed was standing in the hallway looking straight back at him.

"Brother!" Startled, the word burst from his lips before he could think better of it. He clamped his hands over his mouth, struggling for the balance to stop and stay upright, riveted on the sight of the fragile figure staring back in what appeared to be stark terror. He lost all sense of what to do next. He stood mute as apologies and curses boiled in his head, agonized to see the amber eyes rapidly icing over and growing distant.

Havoc pulled a startled Winry back behind him, hiding her from view in case Ed was coming around the corner. He hustled to catch up to Al.. That funny itch in his sixth sense had started up just seconds before this happened, making him nervous that Al was getting too far ahead of them in his excitement at being allowed to show Winry the way to the recreation room. His itch had been spot on, albeit too late to do any good.

"Shit," he muttered, losing decorum in front of the young lady.

"Oh no," Winry whispered, just a split-second behind the Second Lieutenant in figuring out the situation. She complied with Havoc's motion directing her to stay behind him.

Havoc stopped just before the corner to keep them out of view. He could only see Al, now motionless, mouth open.

"It's all right, lad," Armstrong's voice rumbled.

Havoc swallowed and called out, "Right here, Major."

Now both officers had a picture of the situation, although the Major couldn't know why he was unable to come forward yet. He thought fast and steered Winry back to the last doorway they'd passed. It was recessed, and he stationed the girl into the spot where she'd be hidden from someone looking from the corner.

"I gotta go help. You stay right here. Don't move."

She nodded, biting her lip to keep her composure. There hadn't been any sound. She had no idea what was happening.

Havoc came up behind Al's shaking form.

Ed was staring, eyes now cold and blank, at the point in space where Al had appeared in his vision. His body was stiff; an area of darkness, still blossoming at his crotch, trailed down the leg of the light gray pajama pants, culminating in a puddle growing on the scuffed flooring .

As Al's shock wore off, outrage was replacing it. Havoc had been saying that Ed was doing much better. This didn't look better and it didn't look like they were taking proper care of him at all. He moved, but his brother's eyes didn't follow. They were sightless.

Havoc grimaced. "Major, you need a hand?"

Armstrong was rubbing Ed's back, patting his face. He couldn't get a reaction.

The longer they seemed to ignore the spreading puddle of urine, the angrier Al became.

"For crying out loud!" Al blurted. "Help him! Don't just leave him like that."

"Settle down. Let the Major…"

"He's right. I'm going to take him and get him cleaned up. I have his things to change him into already."

Al clenched his fists. "I'd help, but I guess I can't."

"Yeah, buddy, hold on right there. I know this is hard. Major?"

"I'd be grateful if you'd contact janitorial for clean up and put a marker by that so that no one slips. And then get a message to Lieutenant Hawkeye. I don't think the good doctor is available right now, but he needs to be advised as soon as possible." Armstrong arranged Ed's automail arm across his chest before picking him up in a cradling hold.

"Right away. Al, grab me a warning cone off the…"

"You're kidding! Look at him! Is this business as usual? Is this how it is?" Al was turning red and getting louder. "He can't even hear us?"

"You have this, Lieutenant?" Armstrong asked with a serious expression.

"Yeah, it's okay. Just take care of Ed. That should make everyone feel better."

Havoc took Al's arm firmly and walked him down to take the orange cone from its holder on the wall. When the Major had carried Ed out of sight, he called for Winry to joined them again. She rushed up, breathless and worried.

"What happened?"

Al turned on Havoc with a voice so loud and angry that Winry was shocked.

"You liar! He's better? He's good? What the hell? And what's wrong with you people? If he needs to wear some…some kind of…something, you should do it! How is that right? How can you just walk him around letting him piss all over himself?"

Havoc let him vent. As frightening as it was for the girl to see Al getting a little worked up, she needed to understand that he wasn't always the tame little kitten he'd become in the presence of her comforting influence. Otherwise, she might make a mistake in judgment and help Al do things that really weren't in his best interest.

He was barely a half-inch away, nose to nose, and getting himself into a pretty good state. His fist would rise and then lower, shaking. It was pointless to respond to his complaints until he quieted down. If he didn't quiet down soon, Havoc would have to make it happen.

It got to be too much for Winry. Afraid that he was on the verge of violence, she stepped in.

"Al, please, please. Stop yelling. Just calm down."

"You didn't see, did you?" he spun to her, and Havoc stayed close. She took a step back, then another, moving well out of his reach. If Al showed any sign of moving towards her, the tall lieutenant was ready to take him down.

"No, I was trying to make sure he didn't see me."

"Oh, is it my fault now? Because I let him see me? It didn't mean to…no, don't turn this on me!"

"That's not what I meant! Al, no!"

"Listen, they just let him walk around in his pajamas when he's still got tubes and shit strapped around his neck and he can't even control his bodily functions. He didn't have anything protective on and he peed all over himself! Does that sound okay to you? That's not my fault!"

"Al, Al, I didn't say it was."

"It's not like he just doesn't know me, he doesn't know where the hell he is or what's going on. And that's better? That's about as bad as the last time I saw him. Maybe worse!"

"All right, that's enough!" Havoc took Al's collar and pulled with serious force. "You need to be quiet and save it for later. I mean business. I need to take care of things here for the Major. He's probably going to need a hand with Ed and he won't get one if no one knows that he needs it. Move it, now. We have two stops to make."

Al swiped back at him and twisted out of his grip to stand back, glaring belligerently. He hadn't refused to go anywhere, but he did refuse to be forced.

Winry clasped her hands at the escalating tension, but she couldn't stand idly by and let just anything happen. Al was so scary this way, so out of character.

"No, Al, please, do what he says! Ed needs help. We have to do what we can! We'll get to the bottom of this later, we will, together! They'll have to give me access to his charts to do the automail work. I'll be able to tell you everything about how he's doing! And believe me, if they're doing anything wrong, I'll make them change their ways!"

"I'm on her side," Havoc said. He could see that Al was in better control now because he was actually listening to her words. The risk of a physical confrontation was over, just that quickly. "Let's go, Al. Right now."

"This isn't settled! I'm not gonna let you lie to me and just get away with it!" Al shook a finger at Havoc, but the man was already moving on. Al followed grudgingly, with Winry trailing after, trying to absorb it all.

"Fine," Havoc replied. "Just make sure that you stay with me. Both of you."

He led them through the double doors into the Building Maintenance office, hoping Al wouldn't go off again when he described the type of mess they were reporting. From the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle move as Winry's shaking hand met Al's and held tight.

Havoc sighed in relief. It was painful for all of them, having to deal with finding Ed in such a state. Now it looked like Al and Winry would be able to comfort one another when the going was rough.

The girl was tough, all right, and that was exactly what he'd been hoping for. Chalk another one up to the Colonel; sending for her had been an excellent tactical decision.

_tbc_


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Armstrong did have to admit, it wasn't easy, even with his magnificent strength, to get someone safely through the showering process without their cooperation. Especially while juggling an IV bag, and coping with the heavy prosthetic devices so as not to pull any muscles on his young charge. Ed was upright but easily unbalanced, and his reflex to avoid falling was practically non-existent.

As unpleasant as it was to tidy up, he was grateful that Edward's brother had not realized that more than just bladder control had been lost. Ed didn't seem to be aware of much of anything, and now that he was cleaned up, neither of them would ever have to know. That was probably for the best.

It wasn't until he'd turned off the taps that the leaden body began to stir of its own volition. The pale eyes, half-open but unseeing the whole time, blinked and squinted in an attempt to focus. It wasn't a complete surprise that his first impulse was to put up a struggle.

"Edward. Easy now. You're fine. Hold still now, I don't want you to slip and fall."

"Unh! Wait…let me go!"

"You're all right. Steady, now. I've got you."

"Major, no! Let go! Don't!"

"Don't what?" Armstrong asked, worried that the fear in Ed's voice was still rising even though he'd been recognized. Was he too groggy to know where he was yet?

"No, please…don't!"

"Hold on, now. If I let you go, you'll fall."

"No! No! Don't! Stop it!"

Armstrong lifted him carefully, still floundering, and moved him to the bench by the lockers. It was where they always sat while he finished drying off; but the familiarity of the location didn't seem to help.

Ed was trying to get his arms to cooperate and push the man away. He was largely ineffective. It only took one hand for the giant to keep him in place. The other swept into view offering a handful of towels; he grabbed them up and pawed them across the front of his body, covering everything as best he could, using them to try to feel safe again.

"Slow down. It's all right. I can't let you go until you're calm enough to be steady. I can't let you fall."

"Don't touch me," he cried, clumsily rearranging the towels. "Stop touching me."

"I'm sorry, Edward. I'm sorry. I will let go. I will. Just get your balance together first."

"Stop." He was nearly crying, trying to curl up in a ball while clutching at the towels to cover up.

The Major had a sinking feeling that Ed was remembering things again. His instincts told him that if there was ever a time to make sure that he maintained the young man's trust, this was it.

"What else can I do for you? What else do you need?"

"You can let go of me! Where are my clothes? What were you doing to me?"

"You had an accident, and I was helping you clean up. That's all. Absolutely all. I swear it. I have a fresh change of clothes for you right here. See?"

Ed's hand swept his face, roughly brushing away his tears before they could fall.

"We should wipe down the automail, though. I didn't know how to keep it from getting soapy. I rinsed it off as thoroughly as I could."

"Soap? Where was I?"

Armstrong searched the breathless face for clues, trying to figure out what he meant.

"Where were you…when I was cleaning you up? In the shower there. The one we just came out of. Look at where we are. This is where we were heading when we left your room."

"Why? What accident? You mean blood?" Ed scanned his body and the Major's dark-splotched uniform, but water was the only liquid he could detect.

"There wasn't any blood. Everything's fine. You're fine."

"Show me the clothes I had on! Where are they? Prove it!" Ed pulled, and the Major hesitated.

His soiled clothes were still on the floor of the shower stall - proof enough that he need to be cleaned up, and not from injury. But he would also see that he'd had a pretty bad accident, and he would probably be embarrassed.

"I assure you that…"

"Let me see! Now!"

Embarrassment seemed like a lesser evil. The burly giant gave in and helped him, mismatched hands still clutching the towels, to look into the stall they had just vacated.

"How?" Ed pointed down, shaking his head to take the dripping bangs out of his eyes. "How did that happen?"

"You had a little fainting spell, I guess you'd call it. Not an accident in your sleep. Do you understand now?"

"No!" The automail and flesh hands wrung against each other fretfully.

"I mean, do you understand why I was cleaning you up? It had to be done. It would be inexcusable not to."

"Ugh." Ed was calming down just a little, listening instead of acting as though the Major was going to attack him any second. "I don't know how that happened. Why don't I know?"

"Let's get you dried off and dressed and we can talk about it. I'm going to be right here to make sure that no one will bother you."

"I can't just leave those there!"

"I will make sure that it's taken care of."

"But…"

"It's all right. Don't you worry about it. Come this way, lad, let's not waste another second getting you tucked into fresh clothes. You're shivering."

It was a much easier trip back to the bench this time. Once the slightly oversized blue boxers were on, that bit of restored modesty helped immensely.

He allowed the Major to help him dry the metal arm and leg, shakily supervising the process more than participating. By the time he was fully dry and dressed he was clinging without reservation, looking to him for security once more.

"Let's get you back to your room. Ready now?"

Ed nodded uncertainly. He still didn't understand what was happening and it would be a lot easier to get his thinking straight if they weren't in this cold, cavernous space.

The mustached man drew a huge sigh of relief, just as anxious to get back to the greater security of Edward's quarters. They were only a few steps from the door when it popped opened, just far enough for Falman to peer in. Ed grappled for cover, burying his face in the back of the heavy coat.

"Everything okay in here, Major? Lieutenant Hawkeye said you might need a hand."

"We have things under control. But it would help a great deal if you tidied up in here after us. We're heading back to his room now."

Ed made a pained noise of protest into the heavy material, reminded of the mess. The Major gave his arm a pat in sympathy. The boy was understandably mortified.

"It will be fine, Edward. Trust me. "

"I'll take care of things, Major. No problem. I'm just glad to see he's all right. Oh, and the Lieutenant wanted me to remind you that this would have been a good time to use the call button."

"Oh? I didn't know that it was functional."

"They tested it yesterday . I guess she thought that you knew. The other ones are up and running, too."

Ed nudged the broad back and mumbled too low for Falman to hear. Armstrong shook his head.

"No, lad, he can take care of this. Don't worry about it. I think that you should rest until the doctor can have a look at you." He carefully maneuvered Ed around so they were facing one another. The normally pale face was blushing brightly. "Really, Edward, it's all right. It's a natural thing; you weren't conscious. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it."

Ed relented and let the Major drape the IV sling across the back of his neck again to free up his hands.

To spare him more embarrassment, he signaled for Falman to hold back and wait for them to leave. He assumed that the message Havoc relayed contained enough details that no further explanation was necessary.

Ed was quiet and withdrawn once they reached his room. He didn't ask for more details, nor did he respond to casual inquiries about his needs and condition. Introspection claimed all but a peripheral awareness of where the Major was physically and the absolute need to keep him near. He startled and reached out whenever there was movement, to prevent him from leaving.

The shock of seeing Al was hidden, the event buried deeply out of reach. In contrast, older events were still rattling out of their hiding place one after another from the jolt. Freshly exposed memories surfaced and turned over and over in his head. Some scenes were excruciatingly clear and detailed, but incomplete, disjointed and out of any apparent order. Wedging the new information in to fit with the things he thought he already knew wasn't easy. It forced him to struggle for the details that were still murky or missing; details he was morbidly compelled to dig up.

The audio track was out of synch. Envy's voice kept displacing all sounds, adding a separate dimension of ugliness. One rant surfaced in unusual clarity and stuck in his mind. The longer he contemplated it, the better he was at placing it with the events that occurred when the words were spoken. The meaning of the homunculi's threats and the enormity of the implications loomed larger and larger with every thread that he pulled together.

"This body is the synthesis of hundreds of bodies. Men, women, children - soldier, whore, farmer, maid, scientist, drug addict - every kind of person you can think of. It's my collection, shorty. Taking things that belong to others is just part of my nature. I'm much more deserving of all that skill and knowledge than those pathetic worms ever were. I almost have it all. That's just as a little side note; the point is, I'll bet that I have every filthy disease known to man boiling around in here. If I were just some feeble human I'd be dead a hundred times over. Do you want to know why I'm telling you all this, kid? Any clue? No? Huh- and I thought everyone said you were a genius. I just want you to understand what you're facing if you don't tell me where your little tin sibling went. I'm going to infect you in every way possible. Every way. You get that, right? I'm going to make that last mouthful we shared seem like a delicacy. Last chance, you ugly little freak. Tell me where he is and we can stop right now. If not…I'd really think twice about it. This isn't going to be fun - for you, anyway - and it is not reversible. You can't heal up from it. You can't ever play house with any of your little human friends again without risking their lives, too. Think about it before you refuse to talk, because this is your last chance. You might not feel it for a long time…but for as long as you manage to survive in your miserable life, inside you, you'll be pure poison just like me. So if you want to spoil my fun you'd better get to it - you'd better start talking!"

"Major!" Ed cried out, as much to shut off the taunting voice in his head as to call for attention.

The startled man turned to him immediately.

"Major, how sick am I?"

"Sick? Do you feel faint again? Perhaps it's not a good idea to have you sitting up."

"No, not now, not like that, I mean how sick am I all the time? How sick am I from, you know, from before, from …' he shook his head, grappling for words. "I mean what's wrong with me? That I didn't just get better in the hospital?"

"I don't know that sick is an accurate term. You're still recovering, and you do seem to feel poorly at times, but I think of it as recuperating from an injury, not being sick. Does that make sense?"

Ed shook his head, eyes searching in a silent plea for more explanation.

"You don't look like that's what you wanted to hear. The doctor will be coming by to check up on you soon, and I'm sure he'd be better at explaining it to you. Why do you ask?"

Ed fingered the IV, tangible evidence that he had some kind of ongoing illness. The Major was about to ask him to leave it alone when he let go if it and brought his hand to his own forehead.

No fever. His fingertips slipped to his jaw, feeling for the glands just behind it. No swelling. His head hurt, along with his back, hip, and far worse than the rest combined, his wretchedly painful shoulder. His stomach hurt, too, a feeling so familiar that he forgot about it most of the time. Whatever he had, he couldn't identify it - but he wasn't well, and the doctor had to be aware of it. He wondered how much they did know, and if they could be trusted to tell him everything.

How could he have forgotten? His life was permanently changed when Envy carried out that threat. It had everything to do with what had to be done from now on. And somehow, he would have to find that homunculus and face him down once more.

His future, his hopes, and his destiny were all changed. The only path he'd known for the last five years had likely reached its terminus. And now there was this new route with its own riddles and impossible tasks, all set irrevocably by the results of the trip to the Gate with the stone. There had been a trip to the Gate, he was more convinced of that, and in turn more convinced that Al might be in human form once more. But how was he supposed to find the strength to follow through and do what had to be done next? And worse - what if he simply couldn't? The path ahead was more formidable than ever, and now that his body and mind were both unreliable, it was difficult to believe in his ability to prevail - but his only conscionable choice was to take responsibility and resolve this alone.

The Major pulled him closer to quell his visible trembling.

"We'll discuss things with Dr. Gansworth, Edward. Try not to worry so much. I'm sure that he can give you some peace of mind." The Major smiled for Ed's sake, with reassurance that wasn't quite earnest. It had been some time since the last reconstructive surgery, but there were more procedures waiting, put off until he had the strength and stability to lessen the risks. Ed wasn't ready to hear about any of that, but it felt disloyal to lie to him when he asked about his recovery status. So rather than give more false assurances, it seemed best to have the doctor decide when and what to reveal when it came to medical treatments.

Ed felt ill. Up until now, ignorance had provided him with hope that somehow, some way, there might be a tolerable, if not happy, ending to this ordeal. That maybe someone else would step in and save the world, including him. It was hard to set that hope aside, along with so much else, and focus on the demands of this new crucial goal.

He still had to make sure Al was all right, though. He still had to get his brother's life in order before all else. And if he was a walking bio-hazard, he needed to know for everyone else's sake.

"Yeah. I have to talk to him." Maybe he'd been putting the Major at risk, too. Maybe he'd have to stay away from him. And Havoc. And the Colonel. From everyone. He was shivering again, and the Major's attention in response seemed monumentally important. The big man slipped a blanket over him and checked his IV, asking how he felt, getting out liniment to apply to the muscles that ached in his neck and back. He'd have to give up all this pampering. But not yet. And maybe the Major could still be there somehow, if not close enough to touch, close enough to watch his back.

His flesh hand gripped the blue sleeve fiercely even though he tried to let go. He just wasn't ready for the next step. At some point, he'd have to stop being a burden and stand back up on his own. But right now it was too hard to lose the support of a single soul he'd come to rely on.

The Major, ever aware of the slightest shift in mood, gave his head a pat and stopped bustling about. He sat down close and made it easy for Ed to lean against him.

"We'll do the rubdown in a bit. I need a break," Armstrong said, lifting his arm slightly as an invitation to tuck up under his wing.

Ed nodded and clung tight. He had to talk to the Colonel and warn him about things, even though it felt very risky to reveal any of the secrets that might alert them to his plan. They would try to stop him if they knew. He'd have to warn them anyway, risky or not, of course he would, and he had to do it soon. But…a break first. Just a little break, that would be okay. Then he'd be ready to talk to Mustang, and then he'd make absolutely sure that Al was all right. And maybe, just a little break after that, to be with Al for a short while, if it truly was his little brother. Then he'd be able to do it. By then, he'd be stronger, and he'd be ready to face his responsibilities again.

Loud mode shivered and shook low in his bowels. With all of its terrifying secrets to give it strength, it had been unbearable to assimilate into his conscious world.

But now most of the secrets were out, peppering his mind like hatched weevils, burrowing around in the background and no longer resisting whenever he gathered the strength to examine them.

There couldn't be much left to discover. Still, loud mode hadn't disappeared - so some trace of the nightmare might still be hiding in wait.

The idea of Envy infecting his body made his flesh crawl. Maybe as it worsened, the smell of his own blood and tissue would grow foul, until his bodily fluids were as rank and unbearable as his putrid, inhuman enemy's.

"I need a shower!" He twisted free and jumped up, surprising Armstrong.

"Whoa, there, not so fast. You just had one, lad. Remember?"

"I didn't get clean. I need another!"

"You're fine, Edward. Settle down, relax. You're thoroughly clean. Let's…"

"No! I'm not! I can tell!" Ed threw open the cabinet door and rummaged furiously. "I didn't do it myself. I need to do it myself. Let's go! I wanna go now!"

"Edward, stop."

"No!" Ed brushed the hand off his shoulder roughly.

"This is totally unnecessary. I promise to take you again first thing tomorrow morning."

"Don't! I'm going now!"

"And if I don't take you?"

"I'll go…I'll go alone. No! No, you just come with me, damn it!"

Armstrong waffled as their arguing escalated. It wasn't so much that humoring him seemed harmless. Ed was in no shape to be going anywhere. But he was so determined, the only way to deny him was to fight with him outright or drug him.

By comparison, another little walk and shower didn't seem so significant. It was about time start prompting him to go use the facilities there anyway. Reluctantly, he caved in.

He could scarcely believe that Ed was capable of moving so quickly. His second thoughts seemed groundless when Ed pushed open the door and headed straight for the showers, instead of bypassing the room and taking off for another unscheduled tour of the corridors.

That is, until the Major detected far too much steam rising from the partitioned wall.

It was fortunate that he had taken up a station right by the stall in his worry. With a shout he darted in the moment he realized something was wrong.

"Edward! Come out of there!"

Through the swirling steam he saw that the left tap was turned up to the fullest. His hand and wrist met stinging heat when he jerked Ed out from under the blistering stream. In spite of the bright red patches already splotched across Ed's neck and chest, he protested loudly and strained against the interference that prevented him from getting back under the water.

"Wait! I'm not done! Get off me, I'm not done!" Ed shouted, voice echoing roughly above the hiss of the water.

"No more, Edward. You're through. Calm down. You may need first aid. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to insist that you be still now."

"Let me finish! I'm not clean yet. I just want to get clean, I can't …I can't do anything else until…you gotta let me do this, you gotta…"

"Edward, you're done. Listen to me."

Ed wrestled for freedom with a surge of stubborn strength. The struggle lasted several minutes before he began losing the ability to fight the strongman's careful grip. The Major had already injected him with the tranquilizer he carried, anxious to assess the damage without having to touch the crimson skin any more than was absolutely necessary.

It had been close. The most severe visible damage was a single blister forming at the base of Ed's neck. But a large area of the young man's upper body and arm was still an angry red.

He'd hit the newly-installed alert button after pulling Ed away, steam still rolling out of the stall and fogging up the room. They'd set up the device to buzz and flash a small light at Lieutenant Hawkeye's desk; Ed's room was now equipped with one, too.

In mere moments the door flew wide in answer.

"How sanitary is his room?" Mustang demanded as he sized up the situation in a glance, trotting past to shut off the water with an arm hastily wrapped in a towel for protection. "Room or infirmary. Opinion?"

The room was hazy and the hot fog was cooling quickly, making it a dank and unpleasant place to be.

"His room's clean and the bedding was changed a few hours ago. I think this might be handled here if it's no worse than it looks."

Ed grunted as his muscles surrendered completely, dropping his chin to his chest as his eyes rolled up into his head.

"Watch it, it's slippery. Are you sure that you've got him? Is this medication, or..?"

"I'm getting rather good at this, unfortunately. This time it's from an injection - the one Dr. Gansworth provided."

"I'll have Lieutenant Hawkeye call over for someone to come and have a look at him. How did this happen? He just got the water too hot? Did he call for help? Why the shot, Major?" Mustang panted, a little breathless in the heavy air. He let the Major take the lead in situating Ed, assisting where he could.

"Well, sir. I noticed the steam, and simply detected the excessive temperature. I had to pull him out and he resisted."

"Resisted. So this was purposeful? Did he say anything when you stopped him?" Mustang's voice was rising. "Do you think that this has anything to do with what happened earlier? Why the hell was he here again, anyway? Did he have another accident?"

"There was no other accident. He was very insistent on coming back and taking care of his own shower, so I made the decision to allow it. A very unfortunate mistake on my part, Colonel, and I take full responsibility. He said he just wanted to get clean and I was hoping this would calm him."

"You didn't think he might be trying to take off to find his brother again?"

"No, sir. As far as I can tell, he's not aware that he saw him. There's been no mention of Alphonse at all."

"Then I don't get it.

"He's been very unstable throughout the day. I believe that he may be remembering more things. I do think that this morning's events had a role in prompting this. But the aftermath, not the incident itself." Armstrong had Ed gently wrapped and ready to transport. "He was quite upset when we were here earlier. He…had issues with being touched and with being undressed."

"Damn it. I should have thought of this sooner. Gansworth said this kind of reaction was a possibility. At least, excessive showering and the like. He didn't mention parboiling specifically. All right, let's move."

They found Hawkeye waiting in hall. Mustang barked his orders sharply; the infirmary was to send a medic with first aid and maintenance was to install scald-guards in the showers _yesterday_. She turned on her heel and took off double-time to carry them out.

xxxxxx

The medic packed up and left Ed slathered in ointment, the lone blister covered with a spot of gauze to prevent it from bursting. The verdict was in. The boy was very, very lucky to have gotten off with minor burns. The shower had been turned fully to hot, and the water heater, shared by the entire building including the mess staff, was set to a dangerous 145 degrees at the tank. It was likely nearing 140 by the time the Major snagged Ed out of the spray. A few more seconds, fully exposed with the heightening temperature, and it would have been sheer disaster. Thankfully, the damage was on a par with a sunburn.

The Major had patiently allowed the medic to put a smear of first aid on the reddened area on his own hand and wrist. It didn't really hurt much. He sincerely hoped that Ed's pain would be as slight.

He was a little surprised to see the Colonel still presiding over the situation, deep in thought while watching every move.

"Major, I'm pushing back the automail repair at least one more day. I'll talk to Gansworth. I think we should do a little more advance work before we throw anything else at him."

"I didn't get the impression that he was trying to hurt himself. If the good doctor asks, I don't think it was that sort of episode."

"Seems more like bad judgment. Poor grip on reality. Lack of self control. Acting on impulse because he can't help it and because he can't properly see the consequences. Close?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was the dose, Major?"

"I'm not a very accomplished nurse, Colonel. He got the whole hypodermic load. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. You saved him after all, and actually, I'm relieved to hear that he'll be out for a while. Although, it's disappointing to have to delay his meeting with Ms. Rockbell. I have high hopes that she'll be a positive influence for him, best to set the stage for that carefully. From what I hear, she's improved Alphonse's outlook already."

The Major was fussing a little, toweling the blond hair lightly and checking for any missed injury.

Mustang sighed, getting a sense of closure. Ed was in the hands of the caretaker he relied upon. He was going to be fine physically. He'd have to let Winry and Al know that there was going to be a delay. No, he would let Havoc tell them. No need to alarm them unduly with an unexpected visit. He would have Hawkeye carry the message to Havoc, and things would remain relatively calm.

And he'd fill in Gansworth in about an hour, during the meeting they'd scheduled to go over the autopsy results.

"Carry on, Major. I'll get word to everyone." Mustang disappeared into the hallway. He was barely out of sight when Alex realized just how much worse things could have been.

In the confusion and urgency of taking care of Ed, he'd neglected to I.D. Mustang. He hadn't realized that error, even when the medic arrived and he'd put him through a hasty but proper check before allowing him in. Somehow he never got around to checking on the Colonel.

Of course, he told himself, he would watch it next time. He would have reacted immediately, had the Colonel shown any unusual behaviors. But wasn't it unusual that the Colonel himself had not called him on the slip in security? He started to head for the doorway, to check which way the man had gone, when he was startled by the dark-eyed officer's reappearance in the doorway.

"Sir!"

"And I'd better not catch you letting anyone in unchallenged again," he frowned. "You assumed that it was me because I came when you hit the alert button. That's completely unacceptable! Understood?"

Armstrong snapped to attention. "Sir! Yes, sir! Identification and password, sir!"

"No, I don't think so. Too little too late. Carry on." Mustang returned the salute and stalked off, leaving the Major slightly mollified. But not completely; it bugged him that he still had not seen the Colonel's identification and confirmed his password.

That irritation and uneasiness would be more effective than any 'gotcha' in helping the man to remember to be more diligent in the future. Mustang knew it without a doubt, intentionally leaving the issue unresolved to teach his subordinate a vital lesson.

xxxxxxx

Winry had new, if wary, respect for Lieutenant Havoc's apparent dedication. He was there throughout the day, taking few breaks - which, she learned from Lieutenant Hawkeye, were actually visits to Edward's, room to assist him with his meals. He even slept in Al's room. At first, she thought Al might be resentful of the constant surveillance - but it didn't take long to see that, although Havoc was assigned an official watch, there was something more between them. Havoc worried and shepherded over Al, encouraging him companionably, and yet he was quick to take command when necessary, and shouldered complete responsibility for anything that happened whether he had any actual control over it or not.

Al would react to Havoc's stewardship in a number of ways, sometimes becoming defiant and snappish, but there was no indication that he wanted the soldier to leave him. There was a clingy undertone, even when they argued. It reminded her a little of the way Ed and Al had been with one another.

She wondered if it was as mutual as it looked. Al's need to have someone there was certainly understandable. But was Havoc's role just part of the job? Was he just being overly conscientious, to the point of leading Al on emotionally?

She'd heard them use terms for one another that were as close to "brother" as you could get. The concept of the military using that as a calculated tactic to get close to Alphonse set her teeth on edge. She didn't really think that Havoc was that kind of a person, but she had to be vigilant and skeptical of everything that went on here. It felt a bit like being in the lion's den. It hadn't been so long ago that this place was the source of constant threats against her. She tried to remind herself of that every time Havoc's friendly nature tempted her to trust him too much.

Al was no more of a dog of the military than she was. Yet, they were both expected to stay here and obey the orders of Mustang and his men. It all revolved around possession of Edward. The Colonel had no intention of releasing him, it seemed. Did he intend to keep Al as well?

It was difficult to say much, with Havoc always so close. But try as she might to give him the hint, Al didn't cooperate when she tried to take advantage of the few opportunities to eke out a little privacy. He acted as if he wanted the Lieutenant close by all of the time.

She had no choice but to deal with it and sometimes just say more than she would have preferred to, despite the monitoring. If something she said was out of line in the tall blond's eyes, he never indicated it.

"Okay, you guys ready?" Havoc asked cheerfully.

He wasn't fooling her with that charming act at the moment. This was serious business. The holster to his sidearm was unsnapped, and the smile was forced. Was Al really that much of a flight risk? Would they really go so far as to shoot him if he ran?

Unaware of her increasing tension, Al jumped up enthusiastically.

"Finally!"

"This is just for a few minutes," Havoc warned, turning to the Corporal standing silently in the hallway. "Proceed."

"I'm on it." The Corporal took off, and Havoc held up a hand to stall Al when he went to follow.

"Give him a chance to do his job first."

"Is this really that much of a problem?" Winry asked, unable to hold her tongue any longer.

"No. No, not at all. Just being cautious. A wolf was spotted in the area twice last week. They don't usually come this close to civilization, so you never know if there might be something wrong with it. He'll check things out. It'll be fine."

It was all Winry could do not to roll her eyes. That sounded like complete and total bullshit.

"Ah, this is hard, I wanna go now." Al fidgeted. "If it comes at us, you can just shoot it, can't you?."

"I will if it does. But I don't think that's a show your guest wants to see if we can help it."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Winry." Al smiled at her sheepishly.

"It's okay, Al. It's not a big deal." Winry was still watching Havoc's expression and body language closely. He seemed to take her obvious scrutiny in stride.

If not for her intercession, this would not be taking place. She had pushed the issue hard on Al's behalf. to the point where they would have to choose between revealing the true reason for denying access to the outside world, or give in to this small concession. Al was so claustrophobic, and yet they shut him down cold each time he begged for just a few minutes outside. She couldn't feature how letting him step outside would be such a problem, other than failing to impress him with the totality of his lack of freedom.

Lieutenant Hawkeye had called her aside after the debate that resulted in this outing. It was embarrassing to be told that she had been pushing for information Al was better off without. Even the compound itself was not considered completely secure, supposedly as a precautionary measure. But to tell Al such a thing might set him off, and further worry him about Edward's safety. Hawkeye reminded her that Al was essentially defenseless at this point and giving him a feeling of security was one of the few things that could be done to help him cope.

Still, she was skeptical. A walk outside close to the building still didn't seem out of line to her. The staff strolled around the grounds constantly, without any incident since she'd arrived. If they'd given in earlier she wouldn't have had to push for their reasons. If they were trying to make her feel guilty for being Al's advocate, it wasn't going to work unless they gave her a better explanation than that.

"Okay, we've got the all clear. Now before we go, what are the rules?"

Al sighed. "Stay close to you, don't go past the service road for any reason and go inside when you say it's time."

Havoc nodded. "Shall we?"

The lone black bird watched with great anticipation as the soldier checked the area below. This door seldom opened, and it was very close to the hall he'd seen Alphonse wandering down several times over the last week. Always accompanied by an armed guard, there was no real opportunity to get close and see how well his recovery was progressing. From afar his gait looked more even, and his head was up a little higher. The very capable Second Lieutenant was always scanning the windows when they went by. Even as a beast, it was risky to come much closer or show any special interest.

This younger soldier stepped out and scanned the grounds, taking no notice of the feathered friend above. All of the real wildlife fled the minute the black bird had arrived, their sense of survival jolting them into retreat at the first whiff of his scent.

The deserted area was quickly deemed to be secure. One bird did not garner any human interest. The door had been left ajar. He sized up the distance and the wisdom of slipping in. It was complicated. It wasn't like he couldn't get in if he needed to already.

Before a plan of action could form, the man was back inside and the door shut. Envy groaned in anticipation of more hours of boredom. Al's trips up and down the hall were too infrequent to catch a pattern so far. The endless surveillance was the most mind-numbing crap he'd endured in all of his life.

The door was opening again. This time, it opened slowly, and his eyes lit up when the fair hair came into view.

Jackpot!

Four people ventured out, strolling unhurried onto the sidewalk.

There was Alphonse, still thin and pale, face turned upward and clearly drinking in the feeling of the outdoors. A girl was right with him, close, touching his elbow. That was a new development. He'd seen her in the hall earlier today, but not well enough to identify.

Now her face was clear, and as luck would have it, familiar. So Ed's automail mechanic was making a house call.

The other soldier, the one who had performed the reconnaissance earlier, was bringing up the rear. If there had been any question as to the nature of the alert status of the base, this resolved it. As usual, the intel from Central was no good. They were not guarding against material theft.

They were guarding the Elrics.

He froze when the piercing blue eyes locked with his.

_I'm a bird, just a bird, you blond ape_, he thought irritably, forcing his eyes away and cocking his head in a different direction with his best bird-like flick of the head.

**xxxxxx**

"Sorry, Colonel, I realize that I'm late. I stopped to look in on Edward."

"Understood, Doctor. How is he?"

"It's very fortunate that Major Armstrong reacted as quickly as he did. In the future…"

"It won't happen again. We're installing devices to prevent it now."

"I see. Well, that's good to know. However, I'll still want him monitored to see if he's trying to repeat his actions. It may have been easy to remove the risk of this particular harm, but it's still vitally important to address the behavior. We might assume that it's related to some inner need to be cleansed; but we don't want to miss any element of self-destructiveness if that is, in part, his intent."

"Right. See if he tries it again and try to figure out why."

"Simply put, that's about it."

"You didn't say how he was doing."

Gansworth shrugged. "Physically, he's stable. Not badly harmed. Unknown how he's 'doing'. I'll re-evaluate went he's out from under the sedation. This always comes back to the same thing, Colonel. You take exception to any course of regular medication, which inevitably leads us to these episodes, which in turn requires the use of large, heavy doses of tranquilizer. We're not sparing him from anything this way. I wish you'd reconsider."

"I'm constantly reconsidering. If I come to some other conclusion, at that point I'll let you know. Moving on. Your report?"

Gansworth cleared his throat, dropped the overstuffed folder on the scuffed varnish of the desktop and pushed it in front of the Colonel. "There it is. At first, I didn't think there was any point to it. But then it did get interesting. And disturbing."

Mustang rifled through the pages, speed-reading to get the gist. By the end of the third page, speed simply was not possible.

"You're serious."

"I am. At first I thought these victims had been hit by some sort of fragmentation grenade. The bodies were just bits and pieces."

"But this is pretty far-fetched."

"If you've ever seen something that's been bitten through, it leaves a unique compression injury in addition to the obvious point where it's been severed from the rest of the body. All of the remains were like this. Bitten or run through some sort of weapon or device that chews up the victim. I boggle at the shape and size of - for lack of another term for it - the bite pattern. It's huge, teeth too big for any creature I know of. Certainly not man, dog or even mountain lion."

"These cultures, were they negative?"

"No, that's not what it indicates. The cultures are vigorously positive, but it's too soon to tell what specific organism or organisms are involved. Naturally, I have my suspicions, but we must be patient and not leap to conclusions." Gansworth began polishing his glasses. "It's the same across the board. With the exception of the female victim."

Mustang waited expectantly.

"You'll see it in there, Colonel. She's another matter altogether. If I had to guess, I would say that a battlefield was simply a convenient place to dump her body. I also suspect she was being held against her will. The report has it all there. Read it and I imagine you'll be in the same position I'm in, just turning the evidence over and over to try and figure out what the hell happened to her."

"Well. Not looking forward to that." Mustang set the report aside. "If only so many of the other bodies hadn't disappeared."

"I don't think they did. At least, not entirely. Check the summary, Colonel. Check the count of unique DNA sets I was able to get from the leavings your men collected."

Mustang snatched the papers back up, flipping to the back pages.

"They're virtually all accounted for," he breathed.

"Soldiers and civilians alike. Yes. Their bodies weren't removed from the scene. The evidence is clear, if difficult to conceive - it appears that they were chewed up and swallowed on the spot."

xxxxx

"Ohhh, I can't believe it. It's been so long. Look at the sky! This is an amazing day."

Winry nodded, glancing back at Havoc. He still had a hand on his firearm. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"It's beautiful out, it's like it's just for you, Al! It had been a lot colder up until today," she piped in, trying for a cheerful note to keep her concern from showing.

They left the cement and moved onto the lawn. The sounds, the feel of open air, the limitless sky - it was dizzying in contrast to the constant weight of his claustrophobic daily existence.

Winry's worried voice snapped him out of it. He turned to see what she was talking about.

"You're not going to shoot that, are you?" she gasped.

Havoc had his gun out and was drawing a bead on the dark form high in the tree. It was awfully damned big for a bird, and he swiftly judged it to be too large for the type of bird it appeared to be.

"Yup. Hold your ears." Without hesitation, he punctuated that statement with a surgically precise round. The black bird burst apart, blown upward before plummeting lifelessly, catching in the branches about halfway down.

"Geeze! Havoc!" Al protested. "What'd you do that for? My ears!"

The Second Lieutenant tried to be casual, finishing his visual inspection of the area. "Sorry. Just a little target practice. We have a problem with those blackbirds. Too many of them, they make a mess."

"Hmph," Al grumped, wiggling a fingertip into his ear to stop the ringing. "Bet that's one of Colonel Mustang's policies. All heart."

Winry did her own security check, but as far as she could tell, they were now the only living things in the vicinity.

Havoc continued to look up at the tree, letting the group get just a bit spread out in order to speak privately with the Corporal.

"When we're done, get up there and retrieve that. Use gloves and a hazmat kit; whatever you find, seal it up tight. Take it to Lieutenant Hawkeye and have her secure it until I get a chance to talk to her. Let her know how you got it."

"Right."

It took fifteen minutes walking out, but more than twenty walking back, with Al stalling and balking all the way.

Getting in the door was another matter. His keepers made the motions and waited expectantly for him to step through.

He broke into a sweat and planted his feet at the brink of the doorway.

"Time to come on in now, Al," Havoc said in a hushed voice. It still sounded loud in the breathless quiet. Moments stretched uncomfortably with no reply - and worse, no forward motion - from Al

"Are you all right, Al?" Winry asked.

"Sorry, Winry. I'm trying. I just…I don't want to go in." It was a struggle. His first reaction was to fight Havoc on it, but that was not acceptable in front of Winry. It wasn't Havoc's fault anyway. But it helped having someone to vent on. Without that outlet, he wasn't sure how to overcome the tension building in his chest and twisting in his stomach with the prospect of being caged again.

"Of course you do," Winry said softly. "You want to go in because Ed's in there. That's a good reason, right?"

Al let out a noisy sigh. That was true. The containment was necessary for Ed's well-being and that's why he tolerated it to begin with.

"Yeah."

"You can do this. I know you can."

Al nodded, swallowing, and started forward again on sheer will power. He had to do this for Ed. She was absolutely right.

Havoc escorted them in and secured the door. The Corporal trotted off for a hazmat kit.

On the branch, an irritated Envy completed his regeneration and flew off. So "Havoc" was the name of his problem, and he had a pretty good idea what the answer to that particular problem should be.

And the Elric's little mechanic friend "Winry" still looked delicious, and you never know, she might be useful.

This was a fruitful reconnaissance mission after all.

xxxxxxx

Ed sat on the bed, flesh hand cupped lightly over his mouth, lost in thought. He'd started out in that position with the realization that breakfast was about to arrive, and he needed to focus on getting it down and keeping it down. It was almost manageable, things didn't just heave up at the slightest upset. While feeling full still triggered nausea, he was getting better at just riding it out.

His thoughts started out with that main theme - that he had to keep the food down, to get stronger. He had to get strong as soon as possible. No more of this craziness, no more wimping around because of his aches and pains, no more cowering because of things that hadn't gone well before.

If only he could get this feeling of filth to go away, it would just make it that much easier…

_No!_ He smacked the fisted automail into his leg twice, hard, to kill the thought. Feeling dirty, feeling violated and diseased, was self-indulgent. It was a huge distraction and how he felt about his body was not important anymore. Crazy thoughts were so damned sneaky. Sometimes they didn't reveal their true nature until they'd tangled you up in them pretty deep.

"There, now, lad," Armstrong was there, breaking into his shell, taking a light grip on the automail. "Easy with that."

Ed looked up, stilled for a moment in the magnetic warmth of the Major's remarkably clear, blue eyes.

"We have to work out more, Major," he blurted. "A lot more."

"Do we?" He smiled. "I would never take issue with that."

"I need to be strong again. I need to be able to think."

"Of course you do." Armstrong watched as Ed restlessly snagged the bottled water and sucked down half

of it.

"See?" Ed brandished it before fumbling the cap back on. He pointed to the IV irritably. "No reason to have this thing in me anymore."

"The good doctor will take it into account, I'm certain."

"I just want to jerk the stupid thing out myself, right now!" Ed grimaced. "But I won't. I won't!"

"That is a very sensible attitude. I'm sure that Dr. Gansworth will take that into consideration as well."

"I don't care, I just want him to take it out!" Ed's fists were clenched tight.

"Well, look here!" Armstrong said, thankful for the timely distraction. "Your identification?"

"You don't have any idea how many times a day I have to choke back on a smart-ass response to that." Havoc shook his head as his badge received a few moment's scrutiny. "Not complaining, just saying. Victor Ida Victor Alpha."

Armstrong harrumphed his approval and led the man in. Ed was indeed distracted, up on his feet and just slightly unsteady.

"You!"

"Yup, me."

"But I thought you weren't coming anymore."

Havoc smiled. Ed looked pleasantly surprised.

"Hey, not every meal, but that doesn't mean none ever again. It's great that you're taking care of this for yourself now."

"I'm going to get better at it. I'm trying." Ed's deeply inhaled breath released in a shuddering sigh. "So you don't have to. I'm going to do everything myself. Real soon. Everything."

"Well, I'm glad. That you're better, that is. I really didn't mind helping you out. Still don't." Havoc gently placed the tray in easy reach. "If you don't mind, I'd still like to come by."

Ed brightened. "No, I don't mind!"

"Good. I'd miss seeing you. Don't want that."

Perching on the edge of the bed again, Ed reached for the tray and pulled it onto his lap. He forced his fingers to touch the muffin and pull it apart , letting the latest ritual begin. Any soft bread or cake-like food was picked apart into small, marble sized pieces, then rearranged several times in inspection. Before eating each bit it was squished between thumb and forefinger and given a last check. A good third of the item was eliminated in the first step, and another third rejected in the second, but at least that meant a third of it was being consumed voluntarily.

It required full concentration. Talking meant putting the process on hold. Havoc and Armstrong were nearly holding their breath, silently willing him to take each bite. He hadn't been at this new behavior long enough for them to take it for granted, but it was a welcome step in the right direction.

The hard-boiled egg proved too much again, even though it was already peeled. He turned it over and over and gave up on finding the right place to start dissecting it.

Havoc took over, slicing it in half, then in half again with the edge of the spoon. In silence Ed took back the utensil and managed two bites before pushing it all away, holding the large grape juice up like a shield. He took the two pills Armstrong gave him straightaway; it was the first time he'd done so without a fuss.

Ed's eyes were a little brighter than usual when he turned his full attention to his visitor. "You saw Al?"

"Sure did. And he's fine."

"Yeah. Okay." Ed cocked his head to one side, snagging Havoc's hand and bringing it to his nose. "Why do you look thinner? And kind of pale."

Havoc shrugged and smiled. "Do I?"

"I think so." Ed shivered involuntarily, worried for the Lieutenant's well-being. Nevertheless, he gathered up the tremendous amount of will-power it took to turn his attention to the things he had to do. The desire to sit and hoard every minute of Havoc's all too rare company was barely controllable. "You can have the bed and rest. I'd better start working out."

"Now, Edward?" Armstrong asked. "We should wait a few minutes and make sure to let your food settle first. Then we'll get to it straightaway."

Ed swallowed hard and reached out tentatively for Havoc. "You sit down, then. I'll move."

"Ed, buddy, there's nothing wrong with me. Maybe I'm a little pale because I haven't been out in the sun much, like I usually would be. That's all. I'm fine! Just fine."

"No. You've got something wrong. Let me see." Ed reached up to feel the forehead under the mop of hair.

Havoc smiled sadly at his confused expression.

"Try the other hand, buddy," he said softly.

Ed jerked the automail away, embarrassed and frustrated, but replaced it immediately with his flesh hand, patting diligently.

"Okay. You feel okay." He slipped his palm down and across the entire right side of the bemused face. Havoc's skin felt fine, not too hot or too cold. It was firm and unscarred, slightly soft in texture, just a trace of stubble back under one side of his chin. Ed's eyebrows knit in mixed feelings, relieved and happy that the evidence pointed to good health - but unavoidably stricken with the comparisons his touch called up, spotlighting the spoiled landscape of his own face, and recalling the hideous texture of Envy's flesh against his own. "Y-you're all right. I think. You're both okay.

"Don't be worrying about us. I mean it. We've had light duty lately, if anything we're better off than usual. Right, Major?"

"Indeed. We've energy to spare and no complaints, rest assured."

The banter was a little forced, coming from two men who, true, had no physical ailments - but were heavily stressed from the emotional strain of their watch. It was an unfamiliar battlefield with no clear path to victory in sight, and no fighting to engage in for a release of the tension.

Bivouacked indefinitely without relief, albeit by their own choice, the strain was starting to show, and denying it to Ed or anyone else was a protective response. They could be ordered to stand down and let someone else take over if they weren't careful. It was more than professionalism that kept them at it. Ed - and Alphonse - were important people in their lives now, and no one else could be trusted to care as much, or to go as far in order to help and protect them. They'd seen the risks of leaving them with less dedicated personnel already.

Ed's fingertips traced his own face for a moment before he caught himself and brought the inward spiral to an abrupt halt. With a shake of his head, he set his thoughts firmly back on track. _Get strong. Sharpen up. Prepare._

"Me, too, then. Let's go, what's first? Where are the hand weights?" He was up, standing toe-to toe with Armstrong, although he had to crane his neck to see the man's face from that position.

The Major sighed. No use trying to make Ed wait. He'd just be sure to start him off slowly and save the more strenuous movements for last - not that any of it would be considered even mildly difficult for an average, healthy person. "All right then. Mind the tubing, I'll hold the bag. Stretching first, then warm-up, remember lad? The weights come later."

"Guess I'll go, give you more room to move around. I'll be back later."

"Yeah. Thanks." Ed refused to let his focus stray, presenting a cold shoulder to cut off temptation.

Havoc picked up the tray and stepped out, watching for a minute. For a moment, he had the odd idea that what Ed needed was a giant hamster wheel. Because for all of his insistence at working out, that small room was still the only stable place for him in the world. For all of his new-found get up and go, he had yet to go anywhere else with much success.

It was going to be a difficult transition when his new quarters were finished.

All the more reason for them to keep the same watch assignments. This was no time to be letting up.

He shifted mental gears and made a sharp about-face, taking off down the hall to trade Ed's tray for Al and Winry's, in a hurry to get back and make sure that his substitute hadn't screwed things up in his absence.

xxxxx

"This is not a sure thing, Edward. I'm taking this out on the premise that you're capable of keeping yourself hydrated and nourished. That means every day, at regular intervals. You want to get stronger, and giving your body what it needs is the only way to accomplish that."

"I know, I know, I know. Just, please, please take it out," Ed begged, barely able to sit still.

"Okay. You'll feel a little tug, maybe a little sting."

"I don't care!"

"Just preparing you. Hold still now"

"Oh!" Ed went breathless, not expecting the cold shock that hit him when the tubing slid out of his body. It never hurt before, but his whole arm vibrated with strange, shocking pain.

"Easy, now. Are you feeling lightheaded?"

Ed nodded, trying to suppress the nausea and racing heartbeat.

Gansworth cleaned and covered the small wound, tossing the disconnected tubing to Armstrong to avoid letting Ed out of his direct sight. The young man seemed to be reeling from the experience.

"Don't try to get up yet. Did that hurt you?"

Ed nodded again, gritting his teeth, riding out the discomfort as it slowly subsided.

"Your nerves may be going through a phase of over-sensitization."

Ed took that information in, and it fit. His exercises had been difficult, nothing flowed, his movements over-controlled and awkward. It had left him feeling insecure and worried that he'd somehow lost any chance he may have had to return to battle-ready competence.

"For how long?" he managed to gasp. With pain came an automatic rush of distrust.

"It might be a very brief. I know that this must be disturbing. Why don't we give you something…"

"No."

Gansworth paused, feeling for his patient's mood and level of lucidity.

"No?" With careful hands, he performed a short examination, pausing between each action to rest his warm palms on Ed's chest or back, trying to calm him as he tracked his breathing. It took a while before it slowed to an acceptable rate. If it hadn't, he would not have had the option of taking that 'no' as an answer.

Once the pain subsided, he drilled Ed through a new series of movements with the automail. Halfway through, Ed began to ask questions, and by the time he was finished, Ed was through beating around the bush.

"Where did you come up with this all of a sudden?" he challenged. "You're making me do this for some reason, aren't you?"

Gansworth half-lied smoothly as he paused to scribble some notes. Ms. Rockbell would be expecting a very detailed description of his performance throughout these exercises. "They were diagnostic procedures left by the team that cared for you in the ward." Winry had been one of many who had participated in his care while he was there - so, technically not a lie.

Had Ed evidenced a positive reaction once he sensed familiarity with the tests, Gansworth would have gone on to hint at their source. But Ed sounded suspicious, almost angry. Without Winry to provide evidence of her identity, it was pointless to unsettle him with the news of her presence here at the base. He would see her soon enough.

"Well. That's out of the way. Would you like to sit up now? Or you can stay just like that. However you prefer."

Ed wrestled himself upright in reply. "You're sure I'm not sick. You're sure."

"I'm telling you the truth, Edward. Is that what's bothering you? You appeared to be anxious about something when I arrived. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"You want more talk," Ed sighed, more to himself than the doctor. "I'm tired of talking. Too much talk. I need to do things. I need to get my shit together."

"Does it seem like you talk a lot? From my perspective, you've actually talked very little. Certainly, not nearly enough for me to understand what you're coping with. We've make a good start, but we've just barely touched the surface."

"Leave the surface alone. Whatever that is. Just leave it alone."

"I see." Gansworth paused, tapping his mechanical pencil pensively against his lower lip. Ed wasn't interested in his writing instrument at all today. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me? Anything you want, something you're curious about..?"

"No. I need to see the Colonel, that's all."

"You don't look happy about it. Do you still have some doubts about him?"

"I'm supposed to look happy? When? About what? Like you always getting in my face? You think this is my idea of a good time?"

"I apologize. That was a poor way to phrase it. I meant to say that your look was, well, grim, when you said that."

"Why do you need to know? What I talk to the Colonel about, well, that could be classified. And why did you send the Major out? You always let him stay here before." Ed grabbed the closest hand so quickly that Gansworth reacted in defense, nearly striking out before he caught himself.

"Let go of me, Edward."

Ed's teeth clamped onto his hand with uncomfortable pressure.

"Let go, stop biting me! Now!" Gansworth barked, far louder than he could remember yelling in a very long time. With Armstrong out of the room, he had to get the upper hand quickly and definitively.

Ed startled and let go, scrambling up to his feet.

The doctor took him by the forearms and forced him back down to sit. "You need to calm down and control yourself. Edward. Behave."

Ed was choking on his words, on the rush of nausea, and the fear coming to life in his throat. He flinched back and away; his struggle was not to control the urge to fight back, but to stay collected enough to face the next moments and what they might bring.

The reaction was like a slap for the doctor. He'd misjudged Ed's attitude as belligerence and pushed back too abruptly, missing the mark. Instead of anger or at the very least resentment, leading to a possibly productive rant once Ed gathered some steam, he'd knocked him for a loop.

"Hold on, now. Look at me. Look in my eyes. I'm not angry, we're not fighting. I just want you to calm down."

Ed's head went down, his breath coming quick and hard.

"You're all right. Edward?"

Ed rubbed his mouth roughly, and a bitter smile spread across his face. Okay, so this doctor, sworn to save lives and do no harm, with his fragile glasses and thin face, told him to quit hurting him, and it felt for all the world like imminent death. Pathetic. His heart thundered in his chest but it was all right. It wasn't so important that it felt terrible - the important thing was that, in the face of this terrible feeling, he knew what was happening. If he needed to, he could still defend himself. Probably. Possibly.

He straightened suddenly and moved with such speed that his automail fingertip was resting on the bridge of the startled man's glasses before his instincts could prompt him to dodge.

They were both breathing hard now, Gansworth wide-eyed in the realization that things were somehow out of his control.

"Ed," he whispered. "Please don't."

Ed's lower lip pushed forward in a definite pout. He lowered his hand and his head again. So, he was competent to fight defenseless, unarmed medical personnel if they 'threatened'. Not much. But it was a start. The touch to the wire frame was a placeholder; the real move could have been a fatal puncture, courtesy of an automail finger, penetrating flesh and bone and finally, gray matter. It would have been just as easy, nearly as swift.

_I could have done it. Physically, It would have been easy_, he mused_._

"Thank you. Good. Let's calm down now. Stay right there, okay?" Gansworth backed up clear to the doorway, stepping out into the hall, wondering if the hunched figure would come barreling at him at any moment.

Armstrong's replacement was halfway down the corridor, keeping an alert eye out for visitors. Gansworth hailed him.

"Doctor?"

"When is he scheduled to be back?"

"The Major? He's actually been working off the clock for the last three hours already. He's not required to be back for five more. "

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of that, but he's virtually always here anyway. He just left. When do you actually think he'll be back?"

"Off the record, I'm surprised that he's not here already. He said he wanted to go clean up and change and then he'd be back." The soldier shook his head. "The guy never quits."

"Mm." Gansworth didn't like the situation nor any of his options. Bring this relative stranger in for protection; leave Ed alone and in questionable status until Armstrong returned; or risk going back in all alone and try to keep the peace until Armstrong returned.

He went back in alone.

"We're going to start over. I want to know what was that all about. Explain it to me, Major Elric."

Ed blinked, straightening a little from habit at being addressed formally. He was starting to feel kind of spaced out, and his reply was a bit dull and slow. "Practice."

"Practice?" Gansworth kept a healthy distance. The atmosphere was still strained. "What kind of practice?"

"Self-defense." Ed was looking up, sighing heavily, searching for words. "Fighting. Missions…um…you know. Readiness."

"You think that it's appropriate to attack your physician for practice? It is not."

"I didn't. "

"You don't remember?"

"No, I know what happened."

"You can explain it to me then."

Ed's expression soured. The doctor was sure nosy today. It was irritating to have to keep talking when he didn't want to, but he couldn't let that accusation stand. "I didn't attack you, that's bull."

"Your aggressive behavior is understandable. We need to find you some acceptable outlets for it, though. I am not your enemy. And I don't intend to let you intimidate me."

"I didn't attack you," Ed frowned, now a little pissed off. "You think I'm that lame? You think that's all I've got?"

Gansworth locked eyes with his patient and felt a little more confident. "I'm sure you're capable of much more than threatening moves. And that is why your action was indeed an attack, one of intimidation. It won't be allowed. It would be best if you can control this behavior yourself, because if you cannot, there are ways that I can control it for you. And I don't believe that you want me to do that."

Control it for me…Ed rubbed his face with both hands, not sure what his expression might reveal. He didn't want anybody controlling his ability to defend himself. Unfortunately, the prospect made him want to fight back right now, and that would make everything worse.

He spun to face the wall, his back to the doctor, struggling to suppress his anger without losing his grip on the situation.

The last thing he expected was for the doctor to try and touch him. When he felt the hands on his shoulders he jumped forward to shake them off and plowed into the wall.

As much as it made him want to punch the glasses right off of Gansworth's pointy nose, the pain it riled up in his shoulder almost dropped him.

"Ed, easy, I didn't meant to scare you. Are you all right?"

I'm trying to keep from strangling you, you idiot. Scare me? Don't flatter yourself. That's what he wanted to say.

To keep from getting a shot, or worse, restraints, Ed kept those words inside by biting down on his lower lip until blood began to seep down his chin and create its own distraction. The truth was, he was angry because he was scared, afraid of the things an unhappy, interfering doctor might do that would keep him from going forward, from getting better and stronger, lengthening the time it would take to get past this defenseless state. It was terrifying to be defenseless now that he was self-aware enough to realize it.

Gansworth was putting up a confident front, but he wasn't at all sure that he had a handle on Ed. He wanted to be direct and tell him to straightaway to stop biting himself but not at the cost of starting panic or a battle.

"Ed. I think you understand my concern. I think we can let it go for now. Let's calm down, both of us. Let's try to relax and just maintain. We have something to look forward to, right? The Major will be back soon. That's a good thing, isn't it? How about this: we'll concentrate on waiting for him. Waiting for Major Armstrong. He'll be here. You want to be awake to see him, I'm sure. I can let that happen if we settle down now." Mental notes were piling up in his head, strategizing in light of this behavior. Bring Ms. Rockbell in quietly for introductions. Have the Major keep a hand on Edward at all times. Dose him with a mild sedative just prior to her arrival. Limit the scope of the professional aspect of the visit to a cursory examination. Perhaps one of the Lieutenants, either Hawkeye or Havoc, should flank Ms. Rockbell just to be sure.

Ed wouldn't turn to face him. He was mumbling to himself in incomplete sentences, not cohesive enough to really tell what he was on about.

False progress, Gansworth decided, catching a glimpse of blood. What had appeared to be significant improvement was probably a random set of behaviors that just happened to be, by coincidence, the appropriate responses to his surroundings. He hoped that he hadn't erred in removing the IV.

"My fault my fault my fault," Ed half-voiced. "I gotta make this right. I gotta get ready. Can't screw this up like everything else. Can't let anyone stop me."

Gansworth hovered uncomfortably, the self-inflicted injury significant enough to need attention, yet not serious enough to merit a confrontation. Ed wouldn't face him, wouldn't respond to his voice.

When the Major's mighty silhouette finally filled the doorway, there was no telling who was more relieved.

xxxxxx

The tiny adjustments took more skill and concentration than a person could muster while in tears; with the ebb and flow of emotion, there were moments when she had to hesitate and wait for the clutch of pain in her heart to recede before continuing.

The silent, fragile body didn't move. Well-anesthetized and securely strapped to the sterile steel procedure table, Edward had been dosed at bedtime and had no warning that his sleep would be pre-empted by this synthetic, dreamless quiet, or the procedure at hand.

Winry had to drag her eyes away from his scarred face, aching at the way their meeting contrasted with the empty expression he wore now.

Her fingertips moved slowly and methodically, thoroughly examining the area of his shoulder near the unsealed union of flesh and artificial socket. She winced when they reached the coarse ridge of dead skin, a callous so thickened that it had developed deep and no doubt painful cracks. This was so rare, but she should have realized the risk of this much sooner. Ed's body had been wasting away for some time, and as highly adaptive as the fittings were, they had finally lost their precise integrity when his body shrank too far away from the silicone bonds and metal shoulder stem. This area was hidden, a partial disassembly of the housing was necessary just to see it. She couldn't really blame Dr. Gansworth, he had no reason to know that there was a way to check this. If Ed had been his normal self, he would have known that something was wrong and his complaints would have guided them to this right away. No one would be able to stand to let this go untreated for long, it would be like trying to ignore an abscessed tooth.

The success rate for removing and completely reinstalling the permanent body integration framework was almost nil, so replacement with more appropriate hardware was not an option. Working with the existing structure, the integrity would have to be restored with the utmost care and consideration at each step. There were adjustments she could make to a point; but somehow they would have to address the damage to his body first.

The rest of his automail had slipped out of proper azimuth with the decline in body mass and muscle tone and that was yet another element, usually checked and adjusted by the user, that would have been causing back and neck problems. It was clear that someone had been trying to keep it trued up, but hadn't the expertise to do it without reliable feedback from Ed.

Ed required closer daily checkups now that he was incapable of self-care. If Al was able to be with him, he would have known better than anyone how to address these things before they got out of hand like this.

She would have staked her life on the ability of the two brothers to reunite before. Before experiencing her own attempt to see Edward, that is. It was different back when he was institutionalized. He didn't know anybody, and he was fighting anything that moved in order to survive. It wasn't personal.

It was extremely personal this time. Ed looked her right in the eyes, and knew her without a doubt. He used her name when he screamed and grew physically out of control, cursing and raging, demanding to know who brought her here, refusing to look at her again or let her touch him for any reason, hysterically insisting that she be sent back home and never allowed to return or try to contact him again.

When the Major had been forced to pin him down he'd turned violent, attacking the massive strongman and calling him unspeakable names. The doctor had nearly shoved her out the door, albeit apologetically. None of them had expected a reaction anything like this unless he failed to recognize her.

The skinned knuckles and bruised forearm confirmed how far he'd gone out of control.

Dr. Gansworth had tried to put it together for her, surmising that Edward's compromised emotional processes might be to blame. It was entirely possible that he was not able perceive her as his friend because of her role as his mechanic, a role that likely evoked memories of the severe pain and helplessness associated with automail procedures. It was true that Gansworth informed her early on that he felt Ed's psychological recovery was being hampered by the automail problems. It was something to cling to, she supposed, to help salve the feelings of rejection, guilt and sadness.

The featherweight automail was still heavier that a normal limb, but not nearly as heavy as the equipment Edward had insisted on sporting throughout his career as a State Alchemist. It had seemed amusing when she first selected these pieces to modify and bring upon Sergeant Fuery's explanation of Ed's difficulties. She had imagined Ed's indignant reaction if he found out that this was training automail she had developed for light-framed female patients, to get them used to the devices before installing their regular limbs. She secretly found his macho puffery to be kind of cute, as obnoxious as it was at times.

They might not share that joke, or any other, ever again.

She swallowed as her throat tightened, took a deep breath and made the final connection. Twisting the limb into place with expertly applied brute force, her heart clenched as always at the excruciating pain it caused for her client. Ed's mind was vacant but his body went into spasms from the insult. They lasted much longer than usual, confirming her suspicion that when he was conscious, he was somehow able to brave the pain and bring his own reaction under more control. Most other clients were the opposite, having less reaction when incapacitated and more when they were awake and rocked by the shock and agony of the procedure.

The automail fingers chattered together for several minutes afterward, just as Al had described.

"How often have you seen this movement?" she asked, touching the fingers as they twitched before returning to dormancy.

"A couple of dozen times, at least. It seems to happen when he's under extreme duress, especially while he's ill."

"This is a symptom of serious communication failure between the limb and his body . If it gets worse it can create short-circuits, sometimes severe enough to damage the nervous system connection beyond repair."

Gansworth followed her gloved finger as she pointed down into the flesh just under the lip of the permanent framework on his upper torso, pushing it down gently to expose the work they'd done on the hidden problems. For now, the bandages and ointments would provide protection; until he healed completely, any serious modifications to mate the base unit to the diminished flesh would have to wait. For Ed's sake, she hoped that he would start gaining the weight back instead, and fill out into his old shape.

"This has to be because of his malnutrition, because you wouldn't have this problem normally. I've changed the fitting here so that you can access this without tools. You or someone will need to start checking under here daily. If he wasn't like this it could never get this bad, he'd have been asking for help with it a long time ago."

"He's been in a great deal of pain but he never indicated that area. His hand always went here, further out."

"Because his muscles were past their limit. The lighter automail should be closer to his tolerance, but if he doesn't start gaining back some strength and stability, he's not going to be walking much longer. If only he'd let me help him."

"Are you close to being done? I dosed him heavily but it's short-term. I'd rather not have to administer it again unless it's necessary. We have about ten more minutes.

She gently cleaned the last of the dried blood from the two sites, still finding it hard to believe just how frail he'd become.

Last time he had still been more or less in his usual shape, albeit freshly damaged nearly beyond recognition. The scars were hard to look away from, so she straightened the sheet that had been arranged to drape only his bare torso and covered him from neck to toes. It left his face exposed, and she took the opportunity of these brief moments to really look at it again. Even in this state, he didn't look completely relaxed.

Gansworth followed up with a blanket, fishing his flesh arm back out and resting it on top to free up the IV line.

"Back to this again. I had sincerely hoped that he would be free of it by now. It upsets him extraordinarily."

"Just like me. He needs it, and it helps him, but it hurts."

"Hadn't thought of it in that light, but, yes. His overreaction is very similar in both cases. I'm sure that he'll come around. Ms. Rockbell. I'm just hoping that it is the pain factor that's the biggest problem. Because if he has the same reaction to seeing Alphonse that he did with you, it's going to be devastating for both of them."

"But it's still going to happen?"

"Colonel Mustang has been fully informed and he stands by his orders. They're to be reintroduced as soon as possible."

Winry nodded. It was incredibly jarring and painful to get that reception from Edward. From her time with Al, she was almost certain that he wouldn't be able to cope with the same experience.

"Alphonse has derived a great benefit from having you here. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your cooperation. It's a great relief to hear that you're staying on with us indefinitely. If things don't go well, he's going to need your help."

"You couldn't make me leave now if you tried. You don't have to thank me." She bristled at the implication that his influence had anything to do with her staying and helping the Elrics. She would have shot him in the butt if he'd tried to stop her. Of course she'd cooperated with his advice on what to tell Al about her altercation with Edward. Quite frankly, the prospect of telling Al was nearly as upsetting as the event itself. Dr. Gansworth's edited version was truthful, if diluted and incomplete. Al had been disappointed to hear that Ed experienced another loss of control at seeing Winry, and a little frustrated that she had been asked to leave so quickly that she had few details to give. Spared the drama, Al was able to take in the news without obsessing over it. The doctor did seem to know what he was doing where Al was concerned.

What an impossible situation. Stupid Ed, always doing things with such total misunderstanding about the people that cared what happened to him. He always behaved as if he could stop everyone from worrying about him by simply saying that they shouldn't. He disregard for his own safety was not just his own private concern, no matter how much he protested. Even if Al had not been lost and damaged, Ed's condition would still have been very painful and burdensome for everyone.

Irritated that she had a witness, she bent over abruptly and kissed Ed on the forehead, just a quick peck before gathering up her tools and the placing the used automail on the rolling cart. Her heart felt heavy; if she were here alone, she would have liked to have stayed for a bit, just to watch over him and take in all of the feelings that this meeting had riled up. The mission as mechanic was successful for the moment; as a visit by a friend, well, that had been an abortive disaster for them both.

"Ready?" the Major asked, indicating Corporal Enfield waiting in the doorway to escort her. The young soldier nodded in acknowledgement.

"Yeah," she said sadly, flipping up the covers to take a last look at the special bandaging and the hang of the new pieces in relation to his body. There was no telling when she'd have the chance to see him again. She re-draped him, set her jaw and gripped the cart handles. "Let's go then."

Xxxxxxx

"I can't feed it because it doesn't have a mouth," Lust sneered, shaking her shining, dark mane. "This thing is a hideous mistake, you egoistical fool. Kill it and get rid of it. I tried to feed it to Gluttony and he nearly gagged up his last meal."

"You tried to…hag! How could you? It has a mouth sometimes. You just don't know how to take care of it."

"Take care of it yourself. Better yet, don't. It's a failed experiment. Cut your losses and give up now. Try again if you're so set on it. You had a grand time getting this one its start."

"It's not a failure yet. If I get a little more source material, I might make it work."

"Your source is already missing about as much material as he can spare. Any more and you might disable his ability to open the gate. And this thing isn't going to be able to do the job for years even if you did somehow make it work. Which it won't. It's a known fact. Envy. One of the few things those germs can do that we can't is multiply their ranks by live birth."

'Bullshit. The Elric brats are living proof."

"Hohenheim was human before Father perfected his being. Their mother was said to be just a simple human woman. He must have passed on mostly human cells. Witness the fact that she lived so long after childbirth. The toxins from carrying his children didn't do her in until much later. Your vessel was just the surrogate and it still didn't make it six months after delivery."

"I just need a little more material. When it has eyes, they're the same color as Fullmetal's. I just can't seem to stabilize its form."

"You don't even know which wretch in that mass of disgusting creatures you call a body gave up the egg for this thing."

"It's mine no matter what. This is all part of me now. They're assimilated into my being. So that is my progeny, and I'm going to prove it."

"You've assimilated too many of those vermin, Envy. You should hear yourself. You're being ridiculous."

"You picked a hell of a time to decide against this."

"Listen, what idiocy you indulge in is your business - until it involves me or Father's plan. You're not going to drop this abomination in my lap ever again. So the host died. Find another one to nurture that thing until it kills her too. It'll give Gluttony another meal."

The bulbous nose twitched and the rotund homunculus turned away nervously.

Lust's eyes narrowed.

"You did eat her. Didn't you?"

"Well…ah…"

"Out with it!"

"She smelled so bad!" he whined. "But I took care of it. I just sniffed around for blood until I found a bunch of them that were fighting anyway and I traded her for some better ones. There were lots of tasty bodies. Those stupids won't notice."

"Did you at least break her up? Tell me you didn't just leave it the way it was."

"Hmm…mmm…well…she…she kinda looked bad already. Baby'd chewed her up some already. And I mean, I did drop her a few times on the way."

"You morons. None of this should have happened. We've already got that bastard Colonel nosing around. He needs to behave himself. If we have to eliminate him, it's going to make it troublesome to get all of the right sacrifices lined up. Don't you ever think?"

"So maybe you should try to do the same thing I did. It's right up your alley. I'm sure Mustang would enjoy it; I doubt you'd have to resort to using force on him. Although, for my money, that was the best part of my experiment." Envy chuckled. "Such a rube. He really didn't know that it was possible to be forced against his will. Well, always glad to educate a growing young mind."

"Don't try to distract me with your perversions. The situation just gets worse every time you get involved. Between the two brothers, you've got one barely functional yet you can't seem to resist trying to destroy him completely, and there's the chance that the other can't perform alchemy at all - but somehow you can't get that one little piece of information locked down. You're careless, leaving evidence around just begging for the Colonel to make some fool move and get himself killed. We haven't had a lead on the fourth sacrifice since the Elrics stopped communicating with the outside world. And yet, you're not worried. You're not worried because you've managed to impregnated yourself and slap the fetus into a human host long enough to produce a living glop of warm-blooded creature that can't maintain enough of a face to see or eat more than a few minutes a day. Somehow, in just a few months' time, that thing is going to become a brilliant alchemist and our key sacrifice, and all of our worries are over."

"You'll see. I'll fix it. You just follow up on my plan. Make that damned Havoc disappear for good. That's all I need. The other watchdogs won't be any problem."

"You'll fix nothing. Get it the hell out of here with that thing and get rid of it. I need to think. And don't even think about taking this to Father. We've lost so much ground he might decide to wipe us all out and start over. "

Envy glared and snatched up the cage with snaking ropes of hair, bringing it up into the view. His soft mound of offspring was quiet, the only sign of life the rapid rise and fall of the soft curve of what he presumed was its back.

It's none of her damned business what I do with you, he thought, pulling the small container close and bounding away some distance through several quiet turns in the long underground passageway. He paused, a little bit of doubt ghosting in his head from Lust's tirade. But when he opened the lid to the cage and placed an open palm on the slightly shiny back, the little one reacted with familiarity, straining upward. How could a mother resist?

It formed a mouth and split open two more sections to reveal big amber eyes, managing a feeble coo at the coal-black stare.

"Oh, for crying out loud, not this again," Envy sighed, body changing almost instantly into a mother heavy with milk. Instead of brushing off the instinctive transition and taking back his favorite form as usual, he decided to go with it as last-ditch effort. Besides, he had no bottles and no captive wet-nurse to tap. It felt a little weird but the appeal of an easy solution won out. He shook his head in wonder at his own willingness to pull up the black top and bringing the baby up for feeding. "Whatever. Does little Rage want some?"

He muffled a cry as the sedate little creature went into a frenzy, nearly ripping apart the bosom that provided the meal.

It took just a few minutes to annihilate both sides, taking every drop of the milk and fair share of bosom along with it. The baby grew visibly as it ate, and when it finished, the mouth remained. The eyes sank back in leaving no trace, but much more slowly than before.

"Oho. So maybe that was the problem. Human milk just didn't do the trick. How about that," he laughed as he healed and the refashioned into a male once more. "Just wait until you get big and strong. They'll eat their words. I can make all of the sacrifices we need. And won't your midget daddy be so surprised?"


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Doctor Gansworth shifted in the hard chair and re-crossed his legs to try and get somewhat comfortable. He was getting a little weary of the Major's pacing in the hallway. Ed would be coming around soon, and, yes, he would probably realize that it had to have been Ms. Rockbell who replaced his automail, despite assurances that she had been sent away. They'd dealt with Ed's anger before, as they would now. A replay of the unbridled violence was possible, too, perhaps even more likely. Analyzing the situation and the behavior several times over, a few more elements came to light. Ed had not attacked Winry, nor did he yell at her. In fact, he disconnected from her and turned to launch all of his fury away from her.

He was enraged at their actions, not hers. Most likely for bringing her there to work on his automail. He didn't seem to hold her responsible. It was not a negative interpersonal response to the young lady herself.

Whatever the thought process was that caused him to erupt might well make itself known any minute now. Rather than dreading an argument with Edward, he was hoping to have a good one, with lots of revealing rants and unguarded, honest emotion. His only real concern was to prevent Ed from injuring himself if he became combative again. Therefore, asking the Major to take his pacing elsewhere was out of the question.

The Major was not very good at the stiff upper lip thing, and it was obvious that he was very worried. Gansworth continued to notice signs that both Armstrong and Havoc had been at this without relief for too long. He planned to bring it up with the Colonel the next time they could manage a private moment.

The sheet rustled; a leg was moving. As expected, it set the Major on high alert.

Gansworth rubbed his forehead, tired, gathering patience where it was unusually thin. Maybe Havoc and Armstrong weren't the only ones getting a little past their tolerance level.

"Major," he sighed. "I want to remind you keep a little distance while I'm working with him. Don't be alarmed if he's a bit unruly, this anesthetic does wear off rather abruptly. If at any time I think you should step in, I'll ask, and at that point I want you to move in immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Ed was stirring again. His eyes opened slightly, and a low moan punctuated his attempt to stretch.

"There you are, Edward. Here."

Ed twitched away when the straw touched his lip.

"Try to take a little sip. It's just water. I'd bet that your throat is pretty dry right now."

His throat was very dry. Something felt off, weird. He reached up to rub his groggy face and got a glancing blow from the heel of the automail hand instead. Startled, smarting, and jerked into alert, the strange balance and heft of the new automail threw him into breathless disorientation.

"Slow down now. Give me your hands, won't you please? Just for a minute. I can explain."

_Give him my hands? _Ed shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs. Gansworth was so close, blurry, barely recognizable. His automail was malfunctioning, and he couldn't get it to move slowly. It flew out instead of lifting at the rate he intended, throwing his whole body off-balance, creating frightening feelings of insecurity and lack of control.

He blinked again, trying to focus on the problem, to see if there was some kind of damage to his arm.

The doctor had taken his hands in a light grip, no longer waiting for permission to commandeer the runaway limb. Lifted higher and held motionless, in unobstructed light, he saw the difference at once as his vision cleared. The color was totally wrong. And the details…the joints, the flanges…

_Damn it!_

"Winry!" he shouted, but before he could make that next move, the doctor was leaning across him, creating a benign restraint with the weight of his white-jacketed torso, corralling Ed's ability to strike out.

"Edward, we need to talk."

"Screw you! She did this, I know it! You filthy liar!"

"Call me any names you like. It needed to be done. She was here to do the job, parts and tools in hand. How foolish would it have been to send her home before she made your repairs?"

"Where is she? Where?" Why the hell didn't you just do what you promised?" Twisting and pushing hadn't gotten him anywhere, and he couldn't control the new arm enough to call upon the its superior strength.

"I did what I said that I would do. The only difference is that I let her do her job first. It's not like I missed some deadline by having her leave a couple of days later. Let's be reasonable. The round trip from Risembool is quite pricy in itself. The military would have charged her back for the ticket, on top of not getting paid for the job. "

"Where the hell is she? You…"

"I'm sorry for deceiving you. I'm not sorry for ordering the automail work. Your equipment was on the verge being totaled. Another month or two without her care and the only option left would have been a complete uninstall."

"I didn't ask about that, I want to know about Winry! Uh, move, move!" Ed writhed, craning his neck to check the room. "Tell me!"

"Settle down and listen to what I'm saying. I told you already."

"No you didn't, you lying sack!"

"Yes, I did. I said she did her job first, before going off. Do you understand? Whether she left the minute you objected to her being here, or left a little later, the result is now the same."

"You…" Ed huffed, running out of steam as the adrenaline rush stalled, wilting down under the doctor's carefully distributed weight. "you'd better make sure she's gone. She is gone, isn't she?"

"Yes, of course. That's it. Relax. We don't need to fight about this. It's water under the bridge. It's time to start taking better care of your body and see how well you can do with these new pieces. Now, I understand that they'll take a bit of work to get used to. It would have been much easier if you'd let her stay and start your rehabilitation. If you'll reconsider, I'm sure that I can send for her and…"

"No, you idiot. Shut up." Ed's eyes were closed. "Get off me. Get off! It hurts, you're making it hard to breathe."

Gansworth moved off of him quickly but kept their hands clasped.

"Is that better? I want you to show me where it hurts. But first, before I let go, pay attention - look at me - this is lighter, less complex automail. You'll need to get used to it before you can use it without some forethought. No sudden moves." He opened his fingers and released the smaller hands.

"Shit." Ed took to scrutinizing the metal limb immediately. He pushed the forearm plate and scowled when it flexed. "Too flimsy."

Before Ed could get on a roll about the new limbs, Gansworth interceded.

"There's a reason for that. It's lighter so it will put less strain on your body, in order to help you rebuild your general fitness. You realize that the automail pain limits your activity despite your determination to ignore it; and the weight was causing so many incidental injuries during your workouts that it was negating most of the progress you work so hard to achieve. Once you're strong enough to bear the load again, you can have your old automail re-installed."

"She left them?" Ed demanded. "They're here?"

Gansworth hedged as he dug his stethoscope out of his bag, unsure whether Ed would pitch a fit to have the old automail put back on immediately if he knew it was possible. He couched his answer carefully. "No, but she'll be returning them. They needed some work."

"I told you! I don't want her coming back here!"

"Edward, please…there's no need to be yelling. She can ship them back. Or we can send someone to pick them up. All right?"

"Soon, damn it! I want them back here right away!"

"I'm sorry that this is difficult for you. You're very attached to them, very used to them, I'm sure that it must be unsettling to…"

"Oh, bullshit! I'm not…they're not my frigging security blanket!" Ed was getting redder. The idiot had no clue how important it was to have a heavy, metal-rich arm when it came to self-defense; this arm wouldn't transmute into anything nearly formidable enough.

He missed the hand signal given to the Major, bringing him forward into the fray.

"Quietly, now, let the good doctor check you out. You'll have your old automail back soon, Edward. Until then, we should take advantage of your extra mobility to step up your training."

"You're siding with him?" Ed asked, glaring at the Major and leaning away from the doctor.

"Hold still, please. I just need a moment to listen while you breathe. There now, good, it sounds clear. Now I need to see how this is doing." Gansworth moved with him when he evaded, persisting calmly.

"Hey!" More upset than ever, Ed tried to throw the automail arm back to shake off the examining hands.

"Settle down, stop thrashing."

"Whoa!" The Major stepped in closer. "Watch that, Edward, you nearly hit him."

"Don't mess with that! Don't touch me!"

"I just need to take a look. Calm down. Major, please, if you will."

Armstrong caught a flailing arm, then the automail elbow, carefully turning him into position for the doctor to proceed.

"Stop pulling on that! It doesn't open, it's permanent! You're not supposed to screw around with it!" Ed struggled ineffectively, jerking and twisting harder each time.

"No, now listen - it's not quite the same as it was before. It's been modified. I have to be able to check under the cowling now, at least until we get this problem with your shoulder resolved. You need to get used to this. It's important." But it wasn't easy to work the tough little latch, so small and yet so strong and tight fitting, for the first time on a moving subject. Ed was resisting ever harder, Armstrong controlling him while placating and running interference, Gansworth explaining, until finally, with great difficulty, the catch was sprung and the cowling flipped open.

Ed's resulting shouts of panic and anger went straight to the heart of the problem. He didn't trust them at the moment. They'd lied. Weakened him. Tricked him. And now they were playing with something they weren't supposed to, something that could disable his arm which in turn would eliminate his ability to perform alchemy. It was as if the fate of the entire world turned on his imperfect, vulnerable shoulder fittings.

They worked him anyway. Gansworth had his fingers sliding in and out of places that were never supposed to be touched, applying gooey ointment and checking stitches, giving him matter-of-fact explanations that had to be shouted at times to be heard.

He fought them, verbally and physically, until it was nearly over and it finally dawned on him, with the most shocking revelation of the whole ordeal.

It felt better.

That excruciating pain in his shoulder had changed. It still hurt, but not like it had been. It was noticeably better.

This thing the doctor was doing to him _was_ an improvement.

At that point, he grew still and silent, and concentrated on feeling every nuance of what the doctor was up to next without resistance, searching and finding the tone of his touch, the element of intent. It felt like an assault at first, but that conviction fell away more and more with each gentle movement of the skilled hands. His perceptions were too clouded before; but as the mounting evidence pointed to Gansworth's sincerity, he made the brave effort necessary to clear away the static of his fear and take in the finer details.

They had it all screwed up, and they were doing things all wrong. But he was reassured as to what motivated them, conceding the importance of it: they were trying take away the pain; they truly were trying to help. It was mean to treat them like they were some kind of enemy.

He was pliable enough that the Major cautiously released his hold, moving a large paw to support his back and keep it at the ready to re-engage if necessary. Ed took that support and leaned against it heavily, wilting down in a pronounced slump.

The sudden acquiescence seemed to alarm the doctor and the Major more than the fussing had.

"Is this hurting too much, Edward? I'm sorry, I'm being as gentle as I can."

Ed's flesh hand scrubbed at his down-turned face. "Un-uh."

"What is it? Just hang in there. Almost done. Are you all right?"

Ed sighed heavily. The discomfort was minimal. He felt the metal return to position and lock down closed the way it was supposed to. The doctor was being solicitous, and the Major had taken to resting an open hand on his forehead.

"I want to get up now, okay?" he said in a small voice. Armstrong got the all clear and helped him get to the edge of the bed, guiding the new leg . With that move, the tedious process of acclimating to the new prosthetics was about to begin in earnest.

This was going to suck, make everything harder. At least, if they were telling the truth, they'd sent Winry back home, safe. What were they thinking in the first place, risking her life to drag her out here like that? And nearly as bad, how would he ever be able to get Alphonse out of here if she was wasn't already back there, waiting for him to come home?

Now he had to work doubly hard, to get past this stage of being hamstrung with inferior automail. He had to see to it that Al was really here and all right and then demand that he leave and join Winry to keep her safe, the only ruse he'd been able to think of to keep them both out of danger. He had to be at full fighting ability and ready to move as soon as Al left, because he knew his brother well enough to know that he wouldn't stay away for long. There wouldn't be much time to finish things up; he'd have to make his move at that point regardless of his condition.

He had to work harder to stay in control enough to understand what things Dr. Gansworth might do that would help or hinder his mission. Going off at him with a purpose was fine, but just plain losing it would be likely to make the doctor take steps to limit his freedom.

That was a tough one. Control was hard achieve, much less maintain, even now that things were a little more stable. Sometimes just a look, or a well-meaning touch, set off such an eruption of activity in his head it was almost unbearable. Try as he might, the world was still behaving strangely most of the time, and knowing that it was probably his own fault was no help at all.

Self-control had always been an issue, so that didn't mean anything. He was almost normal now, just saddled with all of these challenges, and he was dealing with them as well as anyone could. So what if he saw things that weren't there? They were like nightmares, and everyone had nightmares, he had them all his life almost every night, and that was normal. Crazy people were crazy because they believed their hallucinations even afterward; they didn't question things that didn't fit with reality. Maybe they didn't remember, or ever knew, what things belonged in reality and what didn't.

_But I know when things aren't right. I know when I see these things, or have certain feelings, that they're not normal. Which means I'm still normal, I just can't make it stop. I'm normal and experiencing things beyond my control, and I just have to get better at dealing with it so people around me don't misunderstand and think I'm nuts. _

"That's it. Hang on to me until you're steady."

Well, the new automail wasn't completely uncontrollable. Lost in deep thought, he'd managed to get to his feet on autopilot, awkwardly clinging to the Major since only one hand the human hand would behave predictably.

"I'd like you to move the arm around just a little and get a feel for it, Edward. I want you to feel assured that you have a fully functioning limb there. Then we need to sling it for a few hours. We want to give the parts of your body that are in contact with the porting in here," Gansworth said, tracing the shoulder near the metal edge with his index finger, giving the area a final check, "some quiet time to settle and start to heal. And remember, please, that you are correct - this is something that under normal circumstances would not be accessed outside of surgery. Do not try to open this yourself for any reason. We want to keep that area protected and as sterile as possible."

Ed nodded and rattled the automail arm around spastically, barely attending the conversation while seriously assessing his situation. The feel was light and crappy, and he didn't want to adjust to the new metal and end up having to adjust yet again to his proper pieces when he got them back. But it didn't look like he had a choice.

This was not good news. His body had mended in perfect concert with the embedded mechanisms a long time ago. He'd worked like a dog, through the terrible pain and the irritating intrusion of foreign objects in his flesh, to keep his muscles reacting and blood flowing to places that his body considered wounds to be healed and closed off. Any disturbance severe enough that Winry would even consider letting someone else have access to that critical area had to mean big trouble. The doctor's statement earlier probably was the truth, then. He had been, and might still be, at risk of losing the automail.

Without the automail, alchemy would be nearly impossible. Without alchemy, he had no idea where he'd even begin to find a way to fight the homunculi.

"It'll heal if I do, right?" he asked softly.

"I was given excellent guidance; let me take care of you, and follow my directions, and I believe that we'll see great improvement in a fairly short period of time. The pain should begin to lessen soon. Let's go ahead and immobilize this now. It's just temporary. I promise you can start using it soon."

The pain had already lessened in his shoulder; not a fair trade for the hurtful way he'd behaved in front of Winry to make sure they would get her the hell out of here. It was for her own good, though - it was for her very survival. It wouldn't have been worth the gamble to tell them why he wanted her to leave outright. They thought he was mad, delusional - he couldn't afford to have his protests dismissed as paranoia and risk having her insist on staying here, easy prey for those inhuman monsters.

Sharp pain creased his chest, the emotional pain of guilt and dread. All he'd ever brought to her table was pain and sorrow, and all Winry had ever done in return was wish him well, lift him up and save his damnable life. He always intended to thank her properly, repay her, and someday, sincerely reveal just how much she always meant to him. But that was always put off, stuff for the future. There was never any time to spend on such an issue. Not like he always thought there would be once everything was set back to rights.

His hand pressed to stifle the ache, eyes squeezed shut to hold back their watering. His own life couldn't be repaired anymore but with enough effort it might be redeemed. The only way to apologize for such heartless, selfish treatment, and to thank her, was with action.

His plan took all of that into account. Alphonse would do anything to make her happy, and she would make him happy, too. And if they could know, somehow, that he'd sacrificed himself to make it possible, that would have to be good enough. Maybe they would be able to understand and forgive him in the end.

Absorbed in thought and emotion, he didn't hear the request for him to sit to have his sling fitted. He missed the repeated questions about his well-being. No touch or sound was sufficient to distract him from fretting over his past actions and future plans.

"He might be faint. Let's get him back down." Gansworth helped the Major and they moved Ed back to the bed. He had hunched over slightly before starting to slowly collapse. "Does it hurt, Ed? Tell me where. Can you talk me?"

There was no response. But his eyes were scrunched tight, watering, and he definitely looked like he was in pain.

"Please, Edward. Please answer so we can help you."

"Major. I don't think he hears you."

Armstrong got a hold of himself, stopped calling Ed's name. He wanted to ask if the doctor knew what was wrong, but he didn't figure that he'd get an answer. Gansworth warned him to prepare for a backlash over the automail issue. This wasn't nearly the fight they anticipated; a fight was almost preferable.

Many minutes passed and Ed was still locked up in silent distress.

Gansworth had reached the end of his patience.

Mustang was too interfering, too micro-managing. This boy needed to be on a regular course of medication to help him cope with his pain and his emotions. He was obviously experiencing yet another unpleasant episode, albeit a quiet one. Unpredictable and unstable, the risk factor for not having him medicated swung wildly from minute to minute. Here he'd dropped from being argumentative but safely expressing himself to totally disconnected and suffering unknown distress in the blink of an eye. His sanest behavior was capable of instantly shifting to psychotic to violent to hallucinating to panic attack to near-catatonic withdrawal, without warning or any opportunity to intervene and try to guide him away from these undesirable states of mind.

Here was an ideal opportunity to try one of the many drugs that had the potential to relieve some of the suffering. He had a trial sample of the most promising one in his pocket, received during the latest visit from the pharma vendor.

It was time to stop endlessly begging for permission, and ask for forgiveness in the future instead.

By the time Ed was starting to move on his own again, his mind was made up.

Ed's fingers found the tubing and he raised up a little. In the fuss over the automail, he hadn't gotten around to this issue. His mutter was faint, but the message was clear: why this again?

"Sorry, Ed. It was important because of the anesthetic. In case you had a lingering reaction, like before."

"Before?" Ed murmured, slow to resurface from the powerful pull of the depths of his internal dialogue.

"Well, like when the wires were removed from your jaw. You might recall that it was only supposed to be an outpatient procedure, but you didn't recover completely for several days. "

Wires? He explored his jaw, finding the ridged scar, jolting with the connection it evinced deep down. Al? Wasn't it Al who did this, when he was so furious…so horribly thin and unkempt, yet…

"Is Al still angry?" Ed asked distantly, trying to get the elusive memory to stabilize with rapidly decreasing success.

"That was a long time ago. No, he's not angry. Are you?"

"I'm not angry. I'm tired." Ed's arm went limp, and he gave up on trying to get up again. It was too hard to think out here with people wanting to talk and his concentration, along with the hints of Al's dark deed, fluttered away. "Just take this thing back out."

Gansworth had already freed a pill from the foil seal, reassuring himself that, guardian or not, in a situation where things were happening and the Colonel was not there to hold court, the decision on whether or not to dispense medication was still his.

"All right. But it will be the same agreement as before. You promise to eat, drink and take your medications. Show me that you can, and I'll remove the IV." He tipped the pitcher and drizzled water into the flimsy paper cup, offering it along with the pill in his open hand. He felt the Major's scrutiny without having to look. The man had beastly sharp instincts.

So he motioned to the Major to assist, making him his unwitting accomplice as he helped Ed get just upright enough to down the water and the pill.

Ed silently held out his arm and waited for the doctor to make good on his end of the bargain.

Gansworth put him off just a few more minutes, to let the drug start to take effect. There was no particular reaction when he took out the intravenous line this time. If all went as he expected, the next four to six hours would be very peaceful.

Gansworth took advantage of his twilight state to do a more thorough examination than Ed would usually allow.

"Does this still hurt?" he asked in response to Ed's shaky flinch. "Edward?"

Ed was frowning and silent. His eyes were open but swimming a bit. It must have been another sleeping pill or something like that. He knew the feeling too well. That meant he wouldn't be getting any training in today. But, he guessed, they probably wouldn't have let him anyway, what with the sling and the request to keep his shoulder still.

"Just relax. Talk to me, tell me how your body is feeling. I see you've been digging at the scar on your belly here. It's starting to open up the skin. Does it itch?"

"Urrrr," Ed growled. "It's so gross."

"It's all clean, all healed. Nothing at all gross about."

"Feels like things crawling around in it. Augh, it just…when I think about it, it makes me just…"

Gansworth intercepted the clawing fingers rather easily. Ed was much softer and manageable already.

"Remember our talks, Edward. I know how disturbing that must have been. But I assure you, it is the most thoroughly cleaned wound of all. There wasn't so much as a speck of foreign matter left behind."

"I hate it when I feel it. It seems like…I think they get restless at night."

"This is coming strictly from your memory. It's your restlessness that seems to be evoking the memory. There's nothing actually there to feel anymore. Maybe this medication will help you sleep without that worry, hm? Anyhow, as your physician, I can tell you that it has healed beautifully, and we just have to help you understand that, so you can stop being so rough with it. Is it bothering you now?"

"It is 'cause you talked about it."

"Can I trust you to leave it alone now? We won't discuss it any further unless you want to." He released the hands now that they were still and moved on, pressing gently, feeling for lumps, stiffness, hot spots.

"I'm okay. You don't have to do all that."

"It's my job, Edward. Bring your leg this way, please."

"You're not gonna do that, are you?"

"I'm going to be very thorough. I'll do this slowly."

"No. I don't want you to."

"I hear you. I understand that you don't like this. I probably wouldn't like it either. But we have to make sure that I know everything that's going on with your body. I can't really help you properly otherwise." Ed's token resistance added little to the difficulty of the exam. Yet his ability to be aware and provide feedback was satisfactory. That combination, in Gansworth's opinion, was a very high recommendation for this drug so far.

"It hurts. Don't."

"I know. I'm sorry, this won't take long. One to ten, Ed, how much?"

"Unh! Don't!"

"Almost there. I need your number, please."

"Eight! Now stop!"

"Done. Okay now? I'm sorry that hurts. Eight is quite a bit higher than last time, but I couldn't feel that anything's changed there." He was wiping his gloved hand, waiting for Ed to settle down. When he started again Ed tried to resist.

"Look at me." Gansworth stopped the exam to take a long look into Edward's eyes. He'd become pretty adept at reading the boy's lucidity this way. "That's it. You can understand me. I don't like hurting you, Edward. I'm on your side. I'm doing this to help you. I have to be able to get all the information I can in order to make sure that your body continues to recover properly."

Ed's eyes wandered away. The doctor's stare was so intense, so demanding, it was hard to look at him like he wanted. It was hard enough being poked and prodded again without that. He was so tired, so rummy again. It was good to get rid of the IV but he was starting to regret taking the pill so willingly.

"We're partners, you know. Together we can get you back in pretty good condition. I'm sure you'd rather do everything yourself, on your own, but we both know that isn't possible right now. As you get better and better, you will need this sort of thing less and less." He'd resumed his exploration, hoping that the monologue coupled with the rise in efficacy of the medication would soon eliminate all of Ed's resistance.

"Hurts," Ed said distantly.

"I'm sorry. This area here is still troublesome. It there more discomfort when I press or when I release? One to ten, please."

"When you press. Five." The brightly lit room was darkening, and the doctor's voice was the thread keeping him engaged. Another part of his mind dropped away from the activity around him, and his thoughts began to slip away to other matters.

"Stay with me," Gansworth said sharply, startling his patient to push for response. "This still hurts, too?"

"I don't want you to hurt him." Ed started to roll, and Gansworth caught him to stop the motion.

"Hold still, I need you to stay on your side for a few more minutes. Understand?"

"Don't hurt Al. Al, he's my brother. Don't hurt him."

"I'm not going to hurt Alphonse. Don't worry about that. What I need from you now is…"

"You can hurt me but I have to protect him."

Gansworth sighed. "I can tell that he's very important to you. He's in good hands. He cares about what happens to you as well. I'm certain that he would encourage you to cooperate with me if he were here now. He'd want you to get the medical care that you need."

"What Al wants…" Ed mumbled, trying hard to focus.

"Yes. So let's go forward if you're ready. When I press here, give me the number."

"Four-ah! Eight! Eight! Eight! Ow."

"Sorry. Now here?"

"He has to be careful." Ed swept a hand out. "Without the armor."

"Try to concentrate, please."

"I have to teach him to protect himself. Ow!"

"Okay, tell me if this feels the same on both sides. Here…and here. Again. Any difference?"

"I don't feel it."

"No? How about when I do this? What do you feel?"

"It's Al I'm worried about."

"No, not…well…all right. I said before that I want you to feel free to tell me anything, I want to hear everything you have to say. So that's not a wrong answer, but what I need to know now is how much feeling you've got here. Are you sure that you can't feel this?"

"Mm mm." Ed had been trying to cooperate, but that sinking feeling that he'd screwed up again sure didn't help. If he kept making the doctor dope him up, he'd never get fit enough to fight anybody. Maybe cooperating when they gave him drugs was a bad idea. He was tired and spaced out so there was no gain in staying awake for any of this. Especially if it encouraged them to keep doing this to him.

Gansworth watched Ed go limp and drop off into sleep, disappointed. Maybe the dose was a little high, and this was new medication so he hadn't built up resistance, unlike the other pills.

He continued to do the once-over, minus feedback, updating the chart under the Major's watchful eye. _Awoke moderately belligerent with slight hostile/aggressive reactions followed by withdrawal and observed possible indications of delusional or psychotic mental state. Oral medication dispensed and IV removed. Ensuing physical exam under sedation was unremarkable and patient was calm and somewhat more comfortable and cooperative than expected._

So documented, he was certain that Mustang couldn't find fault with his decision at the moment; but finding a way to support subsequent doses would be tricky.

Ed mumbled in his sleep in the background, as if he fully agreed.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Are you sure that he didn't say anything about me? I just thought maybe he would ask once he saw you."

"Things happened pretty fast. I didn't really get to hold a conversation with him before he ran out of the room."

"That's too bad. I was so sure that he would be glad to see you. Maybe he was, well, overwhelmed."

"Yeah," Winry forced a smile, slogging through this uncomfortable charade. They would shield Al from knowing the ugly details of the meeting with Edward; at least they weren't going so far as to say it had been a success. "I guess he just couldn't deal with it."

"But I hear he did sort of ask about you later," Havoc piped in. "So it seems like he's still trying to get his head around it."

Winry found that hard to believe, but for Al's sake, she nodded cheerfully. "See there? Guess he was just having a bad day."

"Does he ask about me still?"

"Yup."

"Dang," Al shook his head, frustrated at being unable to pace anywhere but in his mind. "I'm so tired of waiting and waiting and waiting."

"Let's head to the rec room before he pops a cork," Havoc winked at Winry.

"That's more like it!" Al groped for her hand. "And maybe take a little walk outside?"

"Eh, no, not today, Al," Havoc said. Not anytime soon, either. The black bird's body had disappeared without a trace. Not only had they lost the chance to examine it, they had to fret over the possibilities as to how it managed to leave the scene whilst blown into bits.

"How's your headache, Al?" Winry asked as they breezed down the hallway. He had a pretty bad one; at least she could still read him easily on that count.

"Don't worry about it. It's better; I'm okay."

"We need to tell Doc that you're getting those more often," Havoc said.

"I know, I know. But not yet, all right? I don't want him to have any new excuses to keep me from seeing Ed." They followed Havoc into the room, not aware that he went in first for their protection. It was all clear, and he let them go past him in a beeline for the board games.

He waved a hand and smiled, casually declining to join in. The world shrank down to just the two of them when they played, and he didn't want to interfere. It was interesting to watch. They had similar attitudes; their tones harmonized. He could see them as a couple, under other circumstances. The situation here was less than ideal, though. And if he wasn't mistaken, there was an undercurrent of guilt, as if they were doing something they shouldn't. Maybe it felt wrong to be playing, with Ed in such bad shape. Or maybe they worried that Ed would be hurt or jealous to see them getting so close.

They were past all that hesitation and well into the second game when a light rapping sent Havoc, hand hovering over his holster, to intercept the opening door.

"Major. Doc." Havoc took their identification quickly. "Who's with Ed?"

"Relax, Lieutenant. Edward's with Colonel Mustang, and Corporal Enfield is standing by to entertain him with some reading if their visit turns out to be brief. We wanted to see how things are going here. And I need to have a little chat with these two."

Al was torn, worried and wanting to hear every detail - but a part of him was disappointed at the interruption of this badly needed pleasantness, almost wishing they hadn't appeared.

Of course, he suppressed his selfish tendencies and abandoned their game without a second glance.

"We need to chat? Does that mean it's time?"

"Soon. There will need to be some changes first. We've discussed some of them before. Now, it's time to implement them. Sit back down, son."

Al swallowed and made himself sit, fidgeting.

"Your new room is nearly ready. Much, much larger, with its own facilities, so no more using the communal toilets and showers." Gansworth settled into a chair and crossed his legs, getting on eye level with Al. "Three beds, and we can bring in a forth if need be. Now - there's no guarantee that we'll be able to move Ed in there successfully. There are a lot of factors at work here. But knowing how difficult it's been for you to be in such small quarters, I think it would be good for you to go ahead and move in as soon as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh." Al was a little breathless. Was the doctor actually saying that he didn't have to be stuffed back into that little cell again? "Move? Yeah. I want to. I'll do it."

"Sight unseen, eh?" Gansworth nodded, glad he'd made the offer. "I'd still like to take you over to let you have a look at it before you commit. Now, let's just get a little groundwork laid here. There will be a place for your things to be put away, and we'll do that, that's fine. But I'll be asking you to refrain from personalizing the space for now. You'd like to share the room with your brother eventually, correct?"

Al nodded, still in disbelief that this was finally starting to happen.

"Well, then. This is another consideration. When I introduce Edward to this environment, he needs to be able to see it as his new domain, a place he has possession and control over. I have every reason to believe that he will resist leaving his old room. He's very attached to it, and he considers it to be his only safe haven. We have to play it by ear, and do whatever we can to make him transfer those feelings of safety and belonging to this room. We may need to avoid the subject of sharing the room initially. There's no way of knowing yet whether the notion of moving into what he might consider 'your' room would be a selling or a sticking point. He may feel safer with you, or he may be too nervous at first to get centered with you near."

"So you're planning to move them both into this new room?" Winry asked. "That's how you're going bring them together?"

"Not straight away. I wanted to prepare you first, Alphonse, and I think that the more spacious surroundings will be to your benefit. Ed's room is very small - nearly as small as your own. But when the two of you meet initially, I think it best to bring you to him in his own secure domain. There will have to be strong supervision, to the tune of at least three of us. That's a lot of people sharing a small space, and that can be a difficult situation for you, I know."

"No, don't worry about that. Not if I can see Ed. Not if it's best for him." Al looked at Winry, and caught the little twinge of pain. "But wait. You saw him in his room, didn't you, Winry?"

"Oh, Al. That isn't the same. I really think I scared him, is what I did. Showing up out of the blue, with no warning. Now, you, he's been asking for you, and they've been telling him about you all along. That sounds a lot more promising."

"If you'd like, we'll go have a look now. Maybe you'd like to start moving your personal effects tomorrow."

"I can carry all of my stuff under one arm," Al said bluntly. "I don't have to wait for tomorrow."

They formed quite a mini-crowd in the corridor. Gansworth lead them down the main aisle heading away from Ed's room but closer to the Colonel's office.

Al could have squealed when he saw the room. Not the contents, but the sheer size of it. "You mean I'll be here and Ed will stay here with me?"

It was comparatively huge, oddly-shaped, and there was a large mirror actually embedded in the wall, like a window.

Like a window? Something in Al's vast pool of trivial knowledge clicked in. Was that a two-way mirror? He was walking up to it, eyebrows knit in concentration, when Gansworth came to realize that he knew.

"Yes, Alphonse. It's two-way. There's an observation room on the other side."

Al's hand slid across the glass surface, and his own troubled face stared back. "So you can watch us?"

"Well. For one thing, this was already here. I don't want you to think that I had this installed out of concern for your behavior. Although, once I found out that it _was_ here, I saw the possibilities. Edward is very unstable. We don't know how the dynamic will change between you, the Lieutenant, Edward, the Major…everyone concerned. He needs to be supervised at all times. That's something you need to understand. We need to be able to see how he's doing 24/7. Your company will be good for him, we hope, but it doesn't constitute supervision. That's far too much responsibility and you may have your hands full just trying to co-exist with him."

Winry couldn't resist questioning that statement. "Already here. What kind of room was this?"

"It was an interrogation room. Two rooms, actually. This area here, with the mirror, was set up for the actual interviews. That side was a separate holding area with a connecting door. Colonel Mustang had the wall removed. That's why the lavatory facilities are the way they are, kind of in the middle. Before, they were open to this side and just had short partitions. The walls around it are all new, the fixtures as well. As you'll see, the carpentry was nicely done." He held the door as they all peered inside. The floor tiles covering the large area sloping significantly to a drain located in the middle of the room. Even with their relative innocence, the sight invoked unnerving possibilities. Water was used in a number of ways to loosen the tongues of prisoners and to clean up the aftermath of other persuasive measures.

"Oh." Al wasn't as excited about the room now. Not a happy place, for sure.

"It's been remodeled. It's not the room it was. It's all new. This room is a blank slate. You and your brother may well make this a very comfortable living environment."

"But that window - er, mirror - whatever is always going to be there?"

"That's the idea. You spotted it right off. But I don't think Ed has enough organized cognition to realize that it's anything but a mirror. If we put a curtain or some form of shade over it, it's going to look like a window, and he might catch on. And then our option of leaving the two of you physically alone in this room is probably going to be eliminated."

Winry felt for Al. This would feel creepy, knowing that you could be watched at any time, but not knowing who was there. She wasn't sure why , but she decided to try and help instead of arguing. It made sense about watching Ed; she actually had some worries about Ed's impact on Al's well-being, physical and mental, when this sudden proposal to let them room together came up.

It looked like Al was waffling now.

"As I said, Alphonse, I wanted you to see the room and understand what the situation is. I'm being very honest. We need to be realistic when it comes to your brother. If we try to go forward just hoping for the best and don't prepare for the difficulties that we already know can occur, we're just courting disaster. We don't want any more trouble for either one of you."

"Mm." Al finally tore himself away from the mirror. "These look like real beds."

"They are. The Colonel had them delivered especially for you boys. Quite nice. Try one."

Al walked up, a little reluctant.

"Come on, Al." Winry forced a smile and took the bed in the center, sitting and bouncing a few times. "Oooh. This is really something."

Gansworth nodded to her approvingly.

She flopped back. "Comfy! You have to try it!"

Al hesitated, then sat. He was floored by how good it felt, wiggling his backside and bouncing just a bit. "Wow."

"The Colonel thought that something a little more homey than standard issue might be in order. Do you think that it might remind Edward of home?"

Al slowly lowered his back to the bed, shifting around, while he searched his memory, coming up blank.

"Al?" Winry prompted. "Don't you think so?"

"What do you mean, home? Like when we were little kids? I don't think we had nice beds like this at home."

"Seriously?" Winry was up, hand on hips. "Al, you guys had really nice beds. Your mom made you those gorgeous mattress pads full of fluffy down! I remember feeling so envious. This is pretty close, but yours were just perfect!"

"Oh." Al sighed. "I believe you, Winry. Maybe I just don't want to think about it." He sat up, rubbing his face. His enthusiasm was spent. This whole place wasn't really what he hoped for. Maybe being with Ed would be like that, too. It sounded like the answer to his prayers. But maybe it would be a complicated, uncomfortable mess, just like everything else since the earth decided to spit him back out.

It didn't lessen his determination to go through with all of this, but it did dampen his spirits.

"I'll move. Tell me when."

"I want you to have a reasonable level of comfort here first."

"Why can't you just put a screen up over the mirror until Ed comes in?" Winry piped up, worried that Al was looking so down. "You don't need to be watching Al through that thing anyway, right?"

"Would that help, Alphonse?"

"Sure. Sure it would." Al's head lifted and the corners of his mouth turned up when he saw Winry's proud smirk. That girl liked nothing better that to be the one who finds the answer. He loved that about her.

"This is nice, Al," Havoc chimed in, pressing on a mattress, then crossing to the desk. "You guys each have your own cabinet and bedside table. Check the lamps, you can kill the overheads when you want softer light. And hey, how long since you took a meal at a regular dining table?"

"You sound like you're pretty tired of that rotten little cell, too," Al agreed.

"I have to admit, this is a big improvement. Especially now that you have company."

"Can I have a word with you, Ms. Rockbell?" Dr. Gansworth took Winry aside, and Havoc sat next to Al to distract him.

"You can stay here tonight if you still want to," Havoc offered.

'Yeah. I guess so. Is it weird that I feel nervous about it? I hate that freaking little cell…but…I think I know a little bit how Ed might feel."

"Well, you can wait and think about it. It really is up to you."

"What's he talking to her about?"

"Don't know." They looked over, and Winry didn't look particularly concerned by whatever was being discussed. In fact, the two were already breaking up from their little private huddle.

"Alphonse," the doctor began, pausing to let Winry get next to him. "Would you feel better about staying here if we set up a screen in front of the mirror - and Ms. Rockbell stayed the night with you and the Lieutenant? There's plenty of room, a bed for each of you, and complete privacy in the restroom for changing and necessities."

Winry appreciated the doctor's consideration in pulling her aside to get her permission to offer this first.

Havoc gnawed the inside of his cheek, slightly put out that he hadn't been consulted. Sure, Al was doing well now. But there were bound to be issues, issues he might be dealing with in the middle of the night. This sure seemed like a lot of change and disruption to hit him with all at once.

"Do you want to?" Al asked, sounding like he'd found some of that lost enthusiasm again. "I mean, I'd like you to. But the Lieutenant says I wake him up quite a bit, talking in my sleep and all. I'm not a very good roommate from what he tells me."

"If you don't mind, then I don't. I think it could be fun. It's been a little too quiet and lonely here at night. I mean, I'm used to Den always knocking around and Granny keeping odd hours."

"Oh my gosh. Do I have to take my medicine, then? Please say I don't. I don't think I'll need it in here, with both of my friends, and everything."

Havoc was surprised and a bit proud at being lumped together with Winry as a friend.

"Let me get some clarification, Alphonse. Are you saying you'd like to stay here tonight?"

"Yes!"

"Very well, then. Lieutenant, can I leave the logistics of the move to you?"

"Yes, sir. Al, let's get your stuff first, then how about we go by and borrow a couple of the games from the rec room?"

"I can take Ms. Rockbell to get her things, and then we can all meet so they can pick out those games together," the Major intoned. He was quiet, not his usual self. It was a rare occasion when the man could occupy a room and basically blend in with the woodwork.

"Perfect. I think things are under control. Major, no need to report back to Edward's room until your next regular shift. The detail is covered until morning."

Armstrong's frown deepened.

"If we had that fourth bed you could kick it here tonight with us," Havoc joked.

It fell flat. Armstrong ignored the comment and offered a gentlemanly hand to Winry.

"And about your medication. Let's have a compromise. Half-dose, Lieutenant. Alphonse, I'm going to rely on you to be honest. If you have those feelings, you're to request the other half."

Al nodded, unabashedly anxious to start making this happen.

"Shall we, Miss?" the Major asked.

Gansworth left them to set out on their tasks.

xxxxxxxxx

"You wanted to see me?"

"C-Colonel!" Ed turned unsteadily, almost toppling over from his position cross-legged on the bed.

"Hey now, no gymnastics," Mustang teased gently, ready to catch him if he did start to fall. "I didn't come for a workout."

"Unh," Ed grunted, getting to the edge of the bed at ¾ speed. "I didn't think you ever worked out anyway."

"Ouch." Mustang feigned an insulted look. He took his identification back from Enfield, nodding his dismissal for the soldier to go stand guard in the hall without sparing him much attention.

Ed's defenses were definitely down; maybe too down.

"It's 'cause your old," he slurred, lifting a finger with exaggerated care and pressing it to the broad chest.

"Full of compliments today, aren't we, Fullmetal?" Mustang snorted. "You just wanted me here for a roast?"

"No, I'm…I'm just talking…I keep just talking, talking, talking. A lot. And I don't care. I doooooooon't. Which is weird. At least I think it's weird. Do you think it's…"

"Weird? No. You seem fine to me."

"Really really?"

Mustang's breath caught. Ed was smiling, a sight he was not expecting.

"Really. In fact, you look better than you have in quite a while."

"Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

Mustang shook his head and couldn't help but smile himself. Ed's stream-of-consciousness banter was pretty amusing.

Ed didn't wait for a reply. "You better tough it up, old man."

"Sure. Fullmetal," he said, taking Ed's hand with both of his to remove it from his chest. "I'm glad that you asked me to come by for a visit. But was there something in particular that you wanted to see me about?"

'Oh." Ed frowned, pulling his hand away. "Yeah. I do. Okay, I gotta focus. I got something serious. Very serious."

"I thought that it might be."

"Real, real serious. Let me get this right. Yeah, this is important."

"Take your time. I'm here to listen."

"I have to tell you some secrets. You need to know all this junk. I…wait!" Ed made a grab for him, pulled back just shy, and froze, shaking his hands back and forth in indecision. He hadn't checked, but this did seem to be the Colonel. Before he could resolve the inner conflict, movement jerked his attention elsewhere. His eyes went wide as the larger man's hand came at him in response.

Mustang had offered his hand, palm up, right under Ed's nose.

It took a few long moments for the breathless overload to pass and allow comprehension to set in, restoring his calm and composure. Ed blushed and scratched his head after getting a good whiff, starting to make an excuse in denial of his need for reassurance.

The officer would have none of it.

"That was the right way to do it, soldier. You always make certain that you know who you're talking to before you go telling any secrets. That's basic intelligence. Don't ever hesitate to do it, and never apologize for it. Check any time there's a question in your mind no matter who it is. Got it?"

"Yeah, but, shhhh, be quiet before I forget!"

Mustang sighed and nodded for him to continue.

"Okay. Okay. Here it is. Listen. As soon as you spot 'em you have to do it! You can't be thinking that you have to wait until you're sure. You can't be thinking, oh, we'll fight until some point and then I'll do this first or find out that or …you have to…" Ed smacked his hands together. "Right then!"

"Mind if I sit down?" Roy eased into the chair, a little taken aback when Ed used the position jump up and stand over him, getting more excited as he spoke.

His hands passed on either side of the Colonel's epaulet-draped shoulders, gesturing up and down.

"You won't be able to just sit there like that! You can't waste a second! You might not know them, but they'll know you! And then, man, are you screwed! They're evil! I know it's not right, well, I mean I know I swore I wouldn't, but you have to! I have to! So if you see them, just do it!"

"Do what, Ed? I'm a little slow, sorry. It's been a long week."

Ed's lips pursed together, the air passing through his nostrils hard. He nodded, almost angry, then shook his head.

"You're gonna make me say it, all right, I'll say it. I'll say it. Kill them. You have to kill them. Anyone has to. I thought, I thought…I'll get away. I'll kick their ass. I'll…I'll reason with 'em. Then it's like, it's like…I can't reason with 'em. Can't get away. And then…can't kick their ass. I was wrong. They…they don't worry about you or anybody. They don't care. They like to hurt and kill and they're up to something, something big, something bad for people."

"Are you asking me to go find them and kill them, Ed?"

"No. Yes, well, no. I mean when you go up against them you have to fight full-out from the start and like that." Ed gripped his forehead and wobbled; Mustang rose and caught him

"I get it, Ed. Take it easy." The kid was falling apart before his very eyes.

"I was so sure…I swore I wouldn't. But…I was wrong! It's not my…it's not a, like a high principle, or a moral thing, or …I believed it but now…I get it. I can see it. I didn't stop them because I didn't kill them because I'm all, like, oh no, hell no, I'm not killing anybody. Ever. But now I let 'em go and they can hurt and kill everyone. If I hadn't let 'em go…it's my fault. They'll…" he was choking up, eyes swimming. "They'll do things to you. I don't want them to hurt you. You'd die, I think you'd die. Y-y-y-you're not strong like me."

"Hey, hey, nobody's going to hurt me. And, Ed, you're not responsible for anything they do just because you didn't kill them."

"It's horrible, horrible," Ed's fingers traced a shaky path across the Colonel's chin. "Your face, they'll…your face…and then…your neck…and then…"

He was getting more distraught, caught up in the sorrow of imagining the Colonel's suffering.

"Ed, stop. I'm going to wipe them off the map when I catch them. The split-second I see them. Did you forget what I'm capable of? I don't want you to worry about me. I don't have any need to hesitate. I've built my reputation around the ability to destroy the enemy just like that." He punctuated the statement with snap of his lethal fingers.

Ed was snuffling, trying to wipe his nose and eyes with his hand and sleeve. The Colonel rose and propelled him gently back to the bed, guiding him to sit. He offered a handful of tissues and sat next to him.

He hated to push, but this was important. "You said that they're up to something. What is it?"

"I wish I could tell you. They …" he started to lose it again, voice shaking. "They! They! They! I don't even know who they are! Except for him - it - that Envy thing. I heard names I think, weird names just like his, but I can't remember them! I can't, I try, but…"

"All right. All right. Maybe some other details will come to you. You just take it easy and leave the rest to me. This is my job now. I need you to concentrate on getting better. Nothing else. That's an order. Got it?"

He hated this medicine. Ed's defenses were wiped out by it. It gave him relief at times, but if he was at all upset, he seemed to suffer much more acutely. It didn't balance out, in Mustang's opinion.

Damn that Gansworth for insisting on a trial run of the stuff. Ed was basically higher than a kite and hopelessly distressed when he fought to get mastery of his mind in spite of it.

Ed was still struggling unsuccessfully to get a grip.

"Please, don't go yet."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You have so much to do."

"I set this time aside to see you as soon as I found out that you wanted to meet. We don't have to hurry. I've told you before, if you want to see me, you just have to ask." He passed another wad of tissues. Ed finally settled down, just as wobbly as before if not more so.

"There is something else," Ed whispered roughly. "A way we might be able to sneak up on them."

"I'm listening."

"He can be anyone and you can't tell it's fake in time…from his face. You have to look somewhere else. Sometimes the body's messed up some. But when he turned away I always noticed. It's just there, there's no detail - I mean it doesn't look like the person much from behind, and sometimes when he's changing fast, the backside will lag. Gets almost…out of focus. Maybe…maybe they're all like that."

"You're saying that they're only good at changing the appearance of their faces?"

"They can change everything but I don't think they notice the body much. It can be kinda like the person or just plain wrong. If we don't tell 'em that we noticed, they won't know how we know they aren't us. If they know they'd probably do better. So don't let any of them find out!"

"I think I get it. If that's the case, then that's very valuable intel. Just the kind of thing I'm looking for. You just rest and get well and let these bits of information come back to you on their own. Maybe we can do this on a regular basis, get together every week or so. See how much more you have to report to me. Sound like a plan?"

Ed drooped so far to the right Mustang thought he was at risk of toppling again.

"Y-yeah…" Ed's eyes were getting a little glassy, and when Roy put an arm around his shoulders to make sure that he didn't fall, his head dropped back like the string had been cut. It lasted a second or two; Ed jerked his head back up, over-correcting.

"I don't like this."

"You feel okay, Ed?"

"It's so dizzy and weird and blarg," Ed huffed. "Like I drank too much."

"And just how would you know how that feels?"

"I've done it. So? Bet you've done it."

"Been drunk? Yessss, I have, but…as you've pointed out, I'm an old man. You're far too young to be drinking."

"I wasn't a big deal. They gave me the stuff when I showed my pocket watch." Ed's brow creased. "My watch. What happened to my watch?"

"Lost, it seems. I'll see to it that we get you a new one."

"No, I want my old watch. I have to find it! It's special."

"Heavens. What else did that thing get you?"

"What…what is it you're thinking? No, no, that's not why. I'm not like that. I didn't go looking for it. The drinking water was so bad, they only served milk or wine with the meals. It was hot and I was thirsty. I didn't know how much was too much. But the more I had the hotter I got." Ed couldn't quite relax with the Colonel like he could with Havoc or Armstrong, but he felt inexplicable dread every time it seemed like their meeting would end, so he had no incentive to curtail all this crazy rambling his mouth insisted on. "I was super messed up. I puked my guts out."

But the subject of the watch and the figures etched within it brought back the plan his life revolved around now. He had accomplished the mission, the mission of warning Mustang. Now he had to plow ahead.

"I need to see Alphonse, Colonel. You said you would let us. We should. "

"I agree. He wants to see you, too. I think you'll be pleased to see him. He's looking pretty good now." Mustang said patiently, trying to go along with Ed's erratic flow of consciousness without interfering with it, not seeing any connection between the watch, the wine, and Al.

"I'm scared to see him." The words tumbled out of his drug-loosened lips before he could stop them. "No! I mean I'm not. I'm not scared. I'm not scared to see him. I have to see him."

"That's good, but I can understand why you might be worried. Tell you what, I can be there, and Lieutenant Havoc, and Major Armstrong, and Lieutenant Hawkeye. We can all be right there to support the two of you. In case Alphonse gets a little frightened. That might help, don't you think?"

Ed truly looked afraid. He wasn't able to mask his feelings in this state. "I don't want to be like this. I'm too tired to think very hard. I f-feel kinda thick."

Mustang nodded. That was the whole point, according to Gansworth. To slow him down and keep him more manageable.

Some things were better, but by and large, this seemed worse. How slowly do you want to pass through the flames of disturbing memories, painful thoughts, and frightening possibilities?

"I'll speak to Dr. Gansworth, Ed. If he can explain to us how this medication is helping you, that might make a difference in how you feel about it." Otherwise, they were cutting this off, end of story.

"I'm glad you came. I don't know why I'm so worried about seeing you. You're okay." Ed was patting his chest again.

"I hope you know that you can trust me. This information you've given me is going to be a big help to everyone."

"Mm-mm." Ed was leaning harder, looking a little lost. He started playing with the jacket's shiny buttons distractedly. "Don't go yet."

"I told you, I won't. Not until you're ready. Whoa, Ed, try to keep your head up."

"Oh, no, not again. It's getting too hard. My face is numb." Ed wilted. "I think I have to lie down. Don't go! I'll stay awake, I just need to lie down. I'll stay awake."

"It's fine. Let go of the button, Ed, you'll pull it off. Come over this way. I think you're right. It's probably a good idea for you to take it easy. Let me help."

"Thanks. Unh. My nose is numb. Feel it."

Mustang shook his head with an amused snort, smiling again.

"It's not going to feel numb to me."

"Yeahm it is it's no sumb…I mean, so numb…uh…my nouth isn't nurking."

Ed looked like he was losing the fight, struggling to keep his eyelids open with less and less success. Oblivion was creeping up fast and taking him away.

"I'm right here. Just let your eyes stay closed for a while."

This medication is not worth it, Mustang growled inwardly as Ed began to snore softly within moments. Instead of calling for the Corporal, he sat back, arms crossed, stretching his legs out straight and releasing his frustration in a big, noisy sigh. Ed shifted, nestling, murmuring sleepy nonsense.

Mustang reached over to brush back the unruly lock of golden hair covering his eyes and watched his nose wrinkle in reaction to the touch; his hand pawed up, but too half-heartedly to make it to his face.

He should be on the verge of adulthood, but somehow, there it was again, that cute kid look, if you didn't look too closely at the wear and tear.

"Even like this, you're still in there trying to help save the world," Mustang mused, shaking his head. Fullmetal's information was indeed valuable, and could very well make a difference in the days to come. The effort it took to deliver that from memory was not lost on him. "What am I going to do with you?"

xxxxxx

They had all gathered to strategize for the final battle, and he felt pretty good about the risk now. These were the people that meant everything to him. This was the core of his determination. He'd make it right for them. He'd step back up, use his experience and his power to triumph over evil and restore all that was lost. This was just a last little get-together. They were meeting to get their orders from the Colonel, none of them knowing that in Ed's mind, due to his secret plan, this was to be his do-or-die send-off. When he saw these people next, all of this unhappiness would be erased. And Ed would be the bringer of great happiness, safety and security for everyone.

It was due time for the only feat grand enough to wipe out the trouble all of his foolish mistakes had caused.

The chatter was amicable, and he was feeling good; no, great. There was this closeness, this camaraderie, this wonderful lifting of his soul from their whole-hearted support. One after another they turned their attention to him as they took seats around the long conference table, smiling, looking him right in the eyes. It made an amazing warmth blossom in his heart. He had their trust, their faith, and no way would he let them down. The gentle babble of confident chatter cloaked the room with positive energy.

He wasn't participating in the chatter yet. With his hands clasped loosely under the table, he was just enjoying the moment. They'd be asking for his input soon enough, he mused, his half-smile reflected back to him in the highly polished tabletop.

It sank in that the room had abruptly fallen silent, like a switch had been flipped.

He startled as a propellant blew something slightly stinging in his face. It was Maes Hughes sitting directly across from him, holding up the aerosol can and dousing him like an errant cockroach.

The dead man's eyes were cold and fierce.

"I can't stomach this one minute longer," Hughes said. The can fell with a clatter and rolled a short way down the tabletop. It was a common bathroom disinfectant. His accusing finger stabbed in Ed's direction. "Filthy, diseased, pitiful scum! How dare you sit here breathing air in the same room with us?"

The Colonel sat at Hughes' elbow, full attention on his friend, his expression gone blank and cold.

Hughes was still waving his arm dismissively as he turned away, speaking to no one in particular now. "I'm not sitting here with that self-centered, evil little shit any longer. I sure as hell don't want to catch what he's got. You people can suit yourselves."

Mustang was nodding reflectively, as if seeing the wisdom of his dear friend's statement. His white-gloved palms came to rest on the table, ready to push himself up and away.

No one came to his defense. Instead, all eyes were upon him, narrowing, their foreheads darkening. He felt like a bug on a pin. They all saw straight through him now, and it made it hard to breathe. It was one thing to know all of your own failings and weaknesses; it was another to have them exposed to everyone in the cold light of public judgment.

One by one, they grew visibly disappointed, then disgusted, until they finally turned away, too.

He frantically searched his hands for dirt under his fingernails, checked the front of his shirt for stains, searching for whatever it was in his appearance that had caused Hughes to be so repulsed by him.

It came to him that it was just as he feared - it wasn't something on him. It was everything that was in him. His very composition had been scrutinized. They knew. They all knew the truth. The truth he had struggled to hide from them just long enough to finish one last mission. He had been so close. Another hour and they would have been deployed, and in the days to come, there wouldn't be any time to spare for such trivial issues as one man's rotten, selfish soul and disgustingly diseased body. They would have judged him by his results, and he would have been their hero. But now…

The climate control system kicked on, sending a cool brush of air through the angled vanes of the ceiling vent to tickle his cheek, prodding him to wake up and delivering the news that he was dreaming. He pressed his hand up hard under the table to verify it; the surface bowed up and disintegrated with a pop, spreading a white haze in the dark conference room that quickly brightened into the four walls he knew so well.

The feeling of shame wasn't nearly so quick to take a powder. The Colonel had been here, but he was gone. Clearly, he hadn't wanted to stay any longer than he had to.

"Hey, buddy, you awake now?" Corporal Enfield shook himself into a better state of alert. He hadn't dozed the whole time Ed had been asleep. Of course, he was pretty restless and noisy the last half-hour or so. Twice he considered intervening, but the doctor had advised against it except in the extreme. "Guess my voice is pretty boring. That was a heck of a nap."

Ed was blushing as he sat up, still aghast that Hughes would treat him like that.

"Wh-where did the Colonel go?"

"The Colonel? He hasn't been back. Are you thinking of this morning? Here, have some of your water. You look a little warm." He took a hand and steadied Ed, then thanked heaven for his quick reflexes when the automail hand hit the water bottle instead of grabbing it.

"Oh! Dang!"

"Hey, I caught it! No prob." Enfield shrugged and smiled, holding the water out again after his easy save.

Ed's automail hand wandered, refusing to steady. He gave up on taking the bottle and pulled both hands into his lap, looking at them gloomily.

Sometimes it doesn't matter that you realize it was just a dream. The feelings hang on anyway. That was right. The Colonel had been here some time ago. When he fell asleep last, the doctor had been leaving, and the Corporal had been reading to him, something too complicated to follow when he was so tired.

"Something wrong?"

Ed shook his head and sighed. This guy was always trying to distract him. But for once, he wanted to be distracted.

"Hard to get used to the new equipment, is it? Must be tough. I'd be pretty frustrated."

The automail hand opened and closed, turning over, then up. "Yeah. It's not easy. I keep falling on my ass and knocking the shit out of everything."

"Maybe I can help. I'm sure we can think of something to work that hand and eye coordination; 'til then, let's see how well you do on your walk."

"A-Al-Albert," Ed managed, "I don't know if I can."

"We'll go slow. You can lean on me. You'll be fine." It didn't look like encouraging words were quite going to do it. "It's not really optional. I'll have to keep at you until you go. Let's keep it cool, man. Come on, Ed, get up."

Orders were orders. They were supposed to hit the lavatory as soon as Ed was awake and able. Enfield stepped up and put a hand on each shoulder. "Get on up. Let's go."

Stubborn resentment sent all that moody self-doubt packing. Amber eyes flashed fire and he used his wrists to knock the Corporal's away. "Get off!"

Enfield sized him up, staring right back. "At ease, mister. We've got our orders. Its time to move out."

"You move out!" Ed barked. "You trying to start something?"

"There isn't anything to start. This isn't for me, you know. This is to take care of your needs."

"I can take care of myself. I don't want you to do anything for me. "

Enfield blinked, frustrated with Ed's illogical behavior. Before he went to sleep he was so friendly and grateful. They actually had brief exchange about magnetic resistance when he read that particular article; Ed didn't seem to have any problem grasping the concepts.

"I mean it. Get out of here!"

"You know that's not an option, Major Elric. My orders come from the Colonel."

"So just tell him I told you to screw off. I'll go later."

"With all due respect," Enfield said through tight lips. "By the time I find him and tell him, you'll have pissed yourself, and I'll have failed in my duty."

Ed's next retort sputtered and died in his mouth.

The silence stretched on for several minutes. Ed slowly straightened, wobbling a bit on the new leg, hindered by the strange new weight balance in his upper body.

Enfield's hand came out instinctively to steady him.

"Don't!" Ed barked. "We'll do your damned duty. Don't touch me."

"Yes, sir. When you're ready."

"I'm not ready. I'm not gonna be ready. Let's just get it over with." With a hobbling gait, he started for the corridor. What a ridiculous life. His pee shouldn't be anybody else's business, much less their duty. He was tempted to take a swing at the guy when he touched him earlier. Wouldn't that have been fun? A brawl over his bladder? Sad thing was, part of the reason he'd caved was because he really did need to go. He didn't even know what he was so angry about.

"Take your time, sir."

It was hard to tell if the Corporal was angry, too; his tone was flat and formal. Ed felt a sudden ache to have Major Armstrong back. He wouldn't have been so…so…

It was deflating. Major Armstrong would have been fatherly and supportive, like he always was. Enfield treated him like an equal, like they were both regular guys. That should have been unremarkable, but he'd felt outraged. Another little indicator that he might not be as close to normal as he thought he was.

"Sir, let me warn you, if you lose your balance, I'm not planning on letting you fall."

Ed skimmed the wall for support, still having difficulty, growing more distressed at his unreasonable need to avoid Enfield's help, and coming to the realization that any minute now, he was going to have to deal with it.

"Need a hand there, lads?" Armstrong's mellow tones sent Ed up and against the wall, excited and anxious to get him in his sight and in reach.

Enfield was closer and moved to stop him from going over sideways.

"Major!" Ed yelled, as if under attack.

A huge hand came in over the top and met Ed's straining reach. "We've got you."

The Corporal ducked away, completing the handoff. He wasn't surprised that the Major was here even though he wasn't supposed to be on duty; in fact, he was a little surprised that he'd left for as long as he had.

"We should keep moving,' Enfield prompted. "It's been a good twenty minutes since he first woke up."

"Affirmative. Can you make it, Edward?"

It was a pouting nod, but it was a nod.

The Major realized that this was a prime example of how helpful it would be to have facilities accessible from Ed's room. But the nice relationship that had been developing with the Corporal seemed pretty strained.

Still, as unhappy as he was with the man, he wasn't exploding at him. That was better self-control than he'd had with the poor young lady automail mechanic.

Armstrong couldn't help worrying. With so many variables in Ed's behavior, it was impossible to predict how his reunion with Al would go.

The Corporal tagged along, but it was clear that for all intents and purposes, he'd been dismissed by his charge. Ed was even a bit peevish with Armstrong.

"Where the hell were you?"

"Taking care of other business. Please try to keep it down. You understand why you're so irritable right now, don't you?"

"I'm not irritable!"

"You certainly act it. It's because the doctor stopped your medicine. You didn't like it, correct? But it has a rebound effect. It made you too relaxed, but for a little while, it's going to make you feel just the opposite."

"How long? This is annoying!"

_But you're not irritable, heavens no_, Armstrong mused inwardly. Still one very stubborn young man, proof positive that for all of the damage, they certainly didn't break his spirit.

"A few hours, half a day at most."

"This stinks."

"That it does. Corporal, I don't think you were aware of this."

"No, sir," Enfield said, oddly relieved. It wasn't his job to be liked by Elric, exactly. But when they got along, he truly enjoyed the assignment and the hoped that he was able to be of some help in the alchemist's recovery. Having to use force on Edward, verbal or physical, erased any blurring of the lines between duty and friendship and set them apart in a heartbeat.

"You mean, that's why he's pissing me off?" Ed blurted.

Armstrong smiled. "Of course. The Corporal here doesn't go around provoking people in general, and he speaks quite highly of you in particular."

Grumbling but more cooperative, the slight alchemist managed to get through the process without further incident. Rather than dismiss Enfield, the Major had him tag along and rejoin them in Ed's quarters, just to be sure that their relationship was back on firm ground. The Corporal was on pretty good terms with Alphonse, which would make him a valuable asset once the brothers were back together so long as he remained in similar good graces with Edward.

Ed was mildly cranky but seemed to have let go of the urge to square off with anyone. When the meal tray arrived, Armstrong took to standing watch in the hallway and let the two sort it out on their own. He only turned his head away for a moment and missed whatever it was that prompted a short laugh from the Corporal; when he peered in, Ed was blushing with an ornery half-smile of his own. No words were spoken, but everything appeared to be well under control.

xxxxxxxxxx

Winry kicked her bag alongside the bed. She was a little startled when Havoc stepped by her and snatched it up.

"Let's put it in the cabinet. Plenty of room. Ed's things won't be here for a while." And keep the floor areas clear in case there's a problem, he thought, planning ahead. Al was pretty excited; it was a happy excitement, but he was taking nothing for granted.

The bed he designated for Winry was going to be Ed's eventually. It was placed farthest from the entry door, in the corner pushed up against both walls, with the cabinet on one side next to the bedside table and a partition screen bolted on the wall near the foot of the bed, folded up now. Once opened out the screen helped to give this bed an enclosed feeling. Hopefully it would be enough to help Ed deal with the larger space, yet it left enough of an opening to keep everything in full view from the 2-way mirror. Al's bed, in the middle, had the bedside table as the only piece nearby. His cabinet was on the opposite wall. That left his bed with only the headboard wall limiting the immediate area, giving him the full benefit of the spacious feeling of these newer, expansive quarters.

A lot of thought had gone into this arrangement, the Colonel highly involved in the entire process to assure that Ed's need to be tightly secure and Al's claustrophobic need for open space were met simultaneously.

The third bed, at the entrance to the sleeping area, was actually the most unencumbered, but it was assumed that the brothers would want to be closer together. They wouldn't need to be told the other reason - the bed closest to the exit door would be the first line of defense against unwanted visitors from without, and unauthorized exits from within.

Al finished housing his few items, straightened them one last time to make them seem a little less lost among the big, empty shelves and closed the door. A new room might seem threatening to Ed; but all he could feel now that he was here was relief. It was a great feeling to walk into his room and not have his gut clench and sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades.

It was unspeakably amazing to have Winry's sparkling smile here, too, close enough to touch, not that he'd dare to.

"It's been a long day. How about we start the process? Doc says we should lay out the ground rules. It might help if we go over the usual routine first. You've seen most of it, Miss Winry. Every night Al takes his medication and changes clothes, and with a normal dose, he's out in about half an hour. We're going to have to figure out how the bathroom situation is going to work. Just so you know, there's no lock, and Al, the door opens out, so it can't be barricaded from the inside. "

Al blushed and spoke up quickly to save face in front of Winry. "Of course! Otherwise, it would be too dangerous for Ed!"

"Of course," Havoc said. Al got the message and so did Winry, even if Al fooled himself into thinking she hadn't. Al's behavior was truly remarkable since she'd arrived. But that was a far cry from resolving the underlying issues, and they were not about to let proper supervision slide at this point.

"Even though this is going to be your bed, tonight you take the farthest one. If I need to rest I'll do it here in your bed. "

"But…"

"This is something completely new for you. I don't expect any problems, but we'll just have to see how it goes. You agreed to cooperate or this will be a washout."

"Well…I guess it's all right. Don't make it such a big deal, I just thought it would be easier for us to talk and stuff."

"We can still talk, Al. We don't have to be quiet. The Lieutenant won't be trying to sleep. "

"And after the medication, within the next ten minutes or so, Al needs to actually be in the bed. We don't want any swan-dives."

"Hey, wait. Maybe I don't need it here."

"I have permission from Doc to give you half to start out with. Nothing less."

"Unh!"

"Al. Half is less than we've ever tried before. Don't push it. If it turns out you need more, I'll give you the other half. But skipping it completely isn't even on the table here."

Al sighed. Somewhere in the back of his illogical, slightly spacey mind, he'd had an instant vision when they said Winry could stay the night. Although in their separate beds, they would be close enough that they could hold hands until they fell asleep.

But the beds were too far apart for that as it was, even if Havoc hadn't insisted on putting himself between them. They'd spent nights much closer together when they all had to share a room when they traveled together, just the three of them. Sure, he'd been in a big metal shell, but he had still been himself. He never did anything to make her feel uncomfortable then and he never would, he would always make certain of that.

Havoc was right about one thing. It was nice to have a place for all of them to sit down and eat their meals. Plenty of room for the four chairs, one now conspicuously empty as they sat down at the table for their first meal.

"It's hard to believe that I'm finally going to see him. And that we'll be able to stay together."

"You look happier than I've seen you so far," Winry said.

"Yeah. Well. It's not just for me, you know? I really miss him. But I'm really happy for him. Because this is going to be so much better for him. Once I can talk to him and help him, I bet he starts getting well a lot faster." Al had to make sure that she knew his desire to see Ed wasn't purely selfish. He felt guilty and worried that she would think less of him if she knew just how badly he needed to see Ed to have any chance of feeling right again.

"I hope so. Just try not to get your hopes up too high, okay? I kind of did that, and it made it a lot harder when things didn't go so well."

"I'm not worried about my hopes. I just want to get in there and do something to help him. This not being able to see him…just hearing about all the terrible things he's going through from all these other people…that's making me nuts. I mean, you didn't get to talk to him, but you still did a lot for him. Me, I haven't done anything but cause trouble and throw him into shock." Al knuckled his forehead hard with one hand, pushing away from the table and most of his dinner. "It's like, up until right now, they were saying he's better off not seeing me. They just kept saying it. Finally, you know, I was starting to think that, too, and I still wonder. That maybe he'd be better off if I wasn't here. Maybe everybody would."

"Al!" Winry was startled, and so was Havoc. Al had made the one wild threat about taking an overdose of sleeping medication - but this sounded serious. "Nobody would be better off without you! It would make everyone feel awful!"

Havoc rose and took his arm. "Easy, there, buddy. You're under a lot of pressure right now, but we're here for you. I'm glad that you told us what's going on. What I can do to help?"

"No, I'm fine, I don't need help. I'm not hungry right now. I'm sorry, that was stupid talk. I guess I'm just tired."

"So much is going on," Winry said sympathetically. "It's hard right now. You don't have to be so brave, Al. If you're worried, or afraid, we should talk about it."

Havoc walked him to the bed and eased him down to sit. This was different than his usual stress reaction. There wasn't any anger. It was out of the blue, right when he seemed to be the most optimistic; of all times for Al to present new symptoms, this was one of the worst. Of the two of them, Gansworth had made plans for the reunion using numerous scenarios involving many possible ways Ed might behave; but Al's behavior, while not necessarily stable, had limited variations in their projections.

Winry watched them nervously, wanting to go help, but not wanting to interfere or make Al feel crowded.

"I don't know if anyone can believe me, after everything I've done. But I really do want to help him."

"I'd have a hard time believing that you didn't. Why would anyone doubt that?"

"Because I do need to see him. I really do. I can't…" Al caught himself. Didn't he just go out of his way to hide this from scrutiny?

"Can't what, Al?"

"Nothing. Enough of the pity party. I'm okay, let's just forget about it. I don't want to spoil this. You're here, this room is great, Ed's going to be able to stay with me so I can finally take care of him and help him get back to normal - that's all that's important right now."

Winry's enthusiastic nod and smile seemed to cheer Al up a bit more. She swallowed hard to suppress the slightly sick, panicky feeling of realizing once more that Al was just not as well as he seemed.

xxxxxxxxxx

The tunnel's lighting was dim. It was chilly and a bit damp. At first he thought the little one was trembling, but then, his eyes may have been playing tricks on him. Maybe it was just the motion of the cage.

The cage was an unfortunate necessity; until he found another caretaker, there wasn't really anywhere that it could stay, so it had to be portable enough to come with him.

It was rapidly getting to the point where he'd have to have a 'cage' for the next wet-nurse, a cell with narrow bar spacing would do. It would probably take quite a number of them, depending. Rage was going to start going through them pretty fast now.

Well, maybe it would learn to finish its meals, and that would be a good thing, because Gluttony clearly did not like its leftovers.

For now it was still too small and lacked the maturity to will itself into the shape of its choosing. Its mouth did seem to be permanently formed now. The jagged teeth were a mirror image of Envy's, and it filled him with pride when he noticed it. Lust had ragged on about the uselessness of his experiment, and the certainty of failure. This didn't look like failure in the least; in fact it looked more promising than ever.

Stupid Lust. When he checked back in, he expected confirmation that the job was done and that pest Havoc was history. All she gave were excuses. If the troublesome human continued to decline her enticing offers each time she called, she would continue make them until he either gave in or agreed to meet for 'closure'.

Envy understood that hunting male mortals was more than a pastime for her; she was a champion in the obscure blood sport of deadly seduction. And this assignment was far more personal than he realized when he tasked her with it. Havoc was one of the few men she had mined for information that not only came away with a pulse, but without spilling any secrets as well. They had done nothing more that meet a few times to share coffee or a meal; but his lips weren't loose in casual conversation, and he all but ran away when she tried to get him sneak off for some adult fun. When she tried turning up the heat in public, he left with stammered excuses, and from that point on, always seemed to be unavailable.

While all of that was probably supposed to be interesting, the only thing that interested Envy was the bottom line: was she going to be able to pull it off, or not? And if so, when?

Lust didn't want their inability to determine Alphonse's worthiness as a sacrifice to come to light. Father would think unfavorably of them. She instructed Envy to continue to keep watch and be patient.

Well, screw her. If she didn't make a move pretty soon, he'd go over her head and ask for a change of venue. That would solve it. So what if Father had to know? One set of orders from Central, and the two boys would be transferred away from their guard dogs, and put an end to all of the boring recon missions once and for all.

He had suggest that first, quite a while ago. He didn't quite remember all of her reasons for rejecting it. Well, to be truthful, he hadn't really listened most of the time. It was something blah, blah, blah, Father wants everything kept secret, blah, blah, blah, we'll look like we're useless, blah, blah,blah.

The cage rattled again and a repetitive mewling sound started up, getting a little louder each time.

"Not again. Not already! You just ate! Shut the hell up!" He kicked the cage, making it bounce up and land hard.

The mewling changed in tone and volume, becoming more guttural and wailing.

"What the hell?" he asked. "Is that crying?"

He flipped the cage back upright and peered in. The amber eyes were back, tricking tears. Envy smacked the cage and laughed triumphantly.

"Yes! No face at all, now look at you. Learning to cry just like a human. That's an annoying sound, though. Shut up is going to be your next lesson." He picked up the cage and jerked it back and forth, bouncing his progeny against the sides. "Be quiet!"

Instead, it got louder.

"Rrrrrrr!" he growled. "Silence!" He shook the cage over his head violently, the cries interrupted with each impact, until the sounds weakened and stopped.

"That's more like it, stupid brat," he snorted, tossing the cage aside. It landed on a corner, bounced and came to rest upside down. "I'll come back for you later. You sit here in the dark and think about your bad behavior and all the trouble you cause me. I have to go see what your Uncle Al is up to and then I'll find you a new sitter."

Left to wait the dark, Rage obeyed and didn't resume its soft sobbing until it was sure that it was truly alone.

_tbc_


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

"The move has gone well enough so far. He's not as overtly unbalanced as he might be. Alphonse is making a huge effort to be strong and stable for Edward's sake, and for Ms. Rockbell's as well. But it's taking a toll. His perceptions and powers of reasoning are unmistakably compromised. That's not unexpected from our point of view, because we have the benefit of a number of excellent reference books that your librarian secured for us regarding his syndrome. We know of the many problems he is likely to have to work through and the long-term effects that may or may not resolve in time. But as far as Alphonse is concerned, he does not expect to be feeling or behaving strangely. He has yet to buy into our explanations about his condition; he doesn't see wounds or scars, so he doesn't feel like he has a right to say that he has suffered when he thinks about Edward's situation in comparison. Although it would help him in coping if he had a better grasp of the nature of his illness, he can't internalize it so long as he insists that there's nothing wrong."

Gansworth observed the Colonel as he spoke, noting that as always, the man was pushing himself close to his limit. No wonder the men under him were on the verge of burnout from following his example.

"And what do we do about that?"

"It isn't that there's something we need to do differently in his treatment. He's under caring supervision, getting therapy, regaining his health…his long-range prognosis is good. As long as there's no plan to release him, I'm satisfied with providing supportive therapy and giving him time to come to his own realizations. The issue is our immediate plan to reunite him with Edward."

Mustang didn't interrupt, so he took a deep breath and continued. "Alphonse is not as predictable in his behavior as he was just a few weeks ago. He's shown a marked tendency to become morose and depressed. He expressed some feelings that are common precursors to suicidal ideations, textbook symptoms it's true, but they came on rather suddenly. Is that going to impact the way he reacts to all of this? Possibly. If things don't go well and they can't be together, we may need to double up our watch on him. On the plus side, he won't have to know about the extra scrutiny, because we can take advantage of the observation window in the new room. We can handle this, I think, but to take it a step further, if other symptoms begin to appear as spontaneously, we could be looking at whole new complicated set of circumstances. And now Edward will be a part of it. Not ideal for either one of them."

"But we're still going forward."

"I take that as an order and not a question. Correct? You've been clear on this, so yes, I've gone forward on your directive. Your staff is very helpful. I'm rotating them in at different times. Ed shows clear preferences for some of them, but he has reasonable trust in them all now."

Gansworth pulled a list from his pocket, scanning his notes. "Fuery, Hawkeye and Enfield seem to head the list. Well, after Havoc and Armstrong, of course. The dynamic is a little strange with Fuery. Ed tries to dominate when he's there; it's subtle, there's no violence or bullying, but you see it in the way he handles himself in various situations, like taking a meal or a walk to the lavatory. I think it's because the Sergeant hesitates in being forceful when he's trying to get Ed to do something, and Ed reacts by taking charge of it himself. So far it's been fine, but I would not be comfortable with the arrangement should something happen that Ed can't deal with. Ed, on the other hand, can't seem to get enough of his company and tries to keep him from leaving. I interpret that as Ed's attempt to prolong the feeling of being in control of his situation, as opposed to a personal attachment. With Lieutenant Hawkeye and the Corporal, they keep a strong hand on him, the Lieutenant being more subtle. He's secure with them, rarely unruly, and interacts with them well enough - but he doesn't seem to be open to establishing a deeper bond with them. So we're still looking at Havoc and Armstrong primarily, with the two of us coming in a respectable second, as far as his emotional stability is concerned. Unfortunate. I was sincerely hoping to start weaning those two away from this duty."

"We're back to that again?"

"It's a miserable thing we're doing to them, Colonel. Being subjected to the details and aftermath of this kind of torture is nearly as damaging to the family as it is to the victim. They've become very close to these boys and the level of empathy is very high, very much on a par with that of close family, if not more so. Look, I brought this up before, and I can't stress it enough. You need to get these men to step back and take some time to decompress. I keep scheduling them for time off and they keep showing up anyway."

Mustang nodded, tapping his index fingers on the desk in a light cadence just shy of being rude. He was paying attention, he really was, but this guy just didn't know how to cut to the chase. He was sure that this windy diatribe was leading up to something, something more than just getting his men to take some downtime and having extra caretakers available to take their place.

"I'll go over the schedule with them and make sure they leave the grounds for however long you recommend. Good enough?"

"You could do the same yourself, Colonel. From what I've seen, you're experiencing some stress issues and I'd like to see you taking better care of yourself. What is this I'm seeing from the dispensary, you're having to refill the headache medication every other week? And the stomach med-"

Mustang cut him off with the loud impact of his fist on the desk. His voice, in contrast, was cool and controlled. "I can take care of myself. If I need help I'll ask for it. If you don't want to renew the prescriptions I'll do without. Let's get to point, all right? What are we really here to talk about?"

Gansworth took a moment to compose himself. The short fuse was just another indicator of Mustang's fatigue, but it would do no good to point it out.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Colonel. We've been discussing some important things, in my opinion. But I do have a few more items of substance to go over."

"Go on," Mustang said, wondering if perhaps he was a little on edge, a bit too quick to suspect the doctor of being circuitous in their exchange.

"One, I do feel that we now have a suitable physical environment in which the boys can co-habitate. The observation window was a stroke of genius on your part. But it does bring up another consideration, and that is Ms. Rockbell. Once we have them together, if it does not serve to improve Edward's acceptance of her presence here, what is she to do with her time? I would very much like to keep her on until we've addressed all of the serious automail issues, and I think that she'll agree to that. But do you have something else to occupy her? We can't expect her to sit around here for weeks on end, only seeing Alphonse when Ed is engaged in something individually. This is in your purview, Colonel, so now that you're aware, I'm going to leave this one to you."

"I'll…think of something." Actually, Mustang immediately decided to delegate the task to Lieutenant Hawkeye.

"So we're back to the subject of Edward. A couple of things. First, I don't know if this has come to your attention, but in his recent interactions with various member of staff and also with his regular caretakers, Edward has more than once made statements to the effect that he is well now. The Master Sergeant quoted him as saying he was going to be training every day because "I want to be ready for my next assignment now that I'm back to normal."

Mustang winced, and Gansworth nodded. "Everyone's reaction, exactly."

"What it really means, is that he's out of touch."

"Well, yes, and then again, not completely. He has come a long way. The world he existed in after the attack was totally divorced from reality. His behavior and his perceptions have drastically improved since then. It isn't hard to see how, in his mind, he's found his way back from hell and now he's fine. Comparatively, he is fine."

"So you agree with him?"

"Of course not. I just want to let you, and everyone, know not to be alarmed when he says these things. It doesn't mean that he's going to stop improving. He's not going to decide he's well enough and try to pick up where he left off. And I want to make sure that no one tries to tell him otherwise. If he thinks he's doing well, we don't want to tell him that he's not."

"My first reaction would be to tell him, as kindly as possible, that he's better but not well, and that he needs to rely on us for more guidance."

Gansworth nodded. "That's a likely response if we don't tell the men otherwise. First, the reaction is one of, well, shock. They're taken aback; then, they feel a touch of pity - poor fellow, he's quite mad, and this is just more evidence that he's not getting better. Then comes the damaging urge to help him out, to caution him so he doesn't hurt himself, or get too convinced of his wellness and get disappointed when he finds out how much further he has to go. It may be well-meant, but it's still negative, and we don't want to be giving him any negative feedback when it comes to his self-image. He may not be normal by any objective standard, but when he says this to us he is _feeling_ normal, and he desperately needs that feeling. Everyone has the need to feel normal and stable and safe on a very basic, organic level. Ed has lost the core of his normalcy but not the need for it - in fact, losing it causes the need to be much more acute and painful. Does this make sense? I managed to explain it to the Master Sergeant - he is quite an intellectual fellow - but I had less success with some of the others. Rather than wait for the light to go on, if you will just instruct them to humor Edward when he makes these statements, I believe that will take care of it. They don't need to allow him to have any extra freedoms or take any actions in respect to his insistence that he is normal. They just need to acknowledge his statement, perhaps even congratulate him on his progress, then conduct their duty as their orders dictate."

"I'll tell them. But doesn't he believe he's all better when he says that? It's not wrong to mislead him? You just got through telling me that Al's biggest problem is that he's convinced that he's all right when he's not. It's not the same for Ed?"

"No. Ed is actively struggling to overcome his problems, not denying that they ever existed. So it's all right to let him have his moments. We both know, ten, fifteen minutes later, he'll be having visions or shift into one of his phobic states or whatever. It doesn't matter. We want to encourage the fight for normalcy. We want to make each and every random occurrence of that state a pleasant, positive, desirable thing. There are a host of bad things in the normal world and certainly no one knows it in greater detail than Edward. Conversely, there are many attractive facets to certain psychotic states. They can be euphoric, they can numb the pain, mask frightening situations, I could go on and on. He's going to be at risk of being drawn to those states just like he was in the past, when he was dissociated well beyond anyone's reach. Part of our job is to encourage his recovery by making reality the place he wants to be. If we stretch the 'truth' to get there, it's fine - the greater wrong is to be brutally honest. Those ethical boundaries are meaningless if he slips away from us."

"You really think it would make that big of a difference?"

"The only thing I know for certain is that you never know. You can't disregard the impact of the casual comment or carelessly phrased statement. People in Edward's situation are cognitively adrift and from time to time, something will strike them as meaningful and they'll seize upon it with cosmic importance. There's no point in ignoring the potential damage from handling this incorrectly. It may make no difference whatsoever. Or our due caution may prevent him from becoming discouraged by some well-meaning, off-hand comment and falling down some dark path of no return. I can't say. Not only is psych not an exact science, I find it to be a very inexact science. When all this is taken care of, I don't plan to wade this far in again. It's rewarding to a degree but for the most part I find it exasperating."

"I was just asking. I'll see to it. That's all, then? I have some questions about the timeframe."

"Not quite. About the medication." Gansworth steeled himself for the storm and presented the Colonel with the pharmacology sheet. "I have the next candidate."

"Why the hell do you insist on pushing this?"

"Because I believe that a regular course of medication will improve his quality of life and aid in his ability to recover. We just have discover which drug is right for him."

"We aren't going to see eye to eye on this. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"Just listen. Hear me out. I'll even concede some of your points, but hear mine. So. You don't feel that he needs to be sedated regularly. You are of the opinion that it's not good for him in some way."

"Doping him up is not a good option. Because, from what I've seen, it delays his recovery and lulls everyone into thinking he's getting better when in fact he's just being sedated to make it easy to keep him out of sight and out of mind. You wouldn't be coming to me every other day with all of these issues if he were half knocked out. There'd be little or nothing to report. Probably sounds good to you. You might tell me that it means he's still getting better, just at a slower, more comfortable pace. But I'd say that's bullshit."

"I get your point. I don't agree with it. But let me just take this another step. Wouldn't you agree that there are times when it's been absolutely necessary to sedate him? And would you also agree that the sedatives we've been using on him are harsh and have some undesirable side-effects?"

"There are times. And when it's necessary, we pretty much need to knock him out right away, and what we've given him has been effective."

"But unpleasant in different ways. He has difficulty on waking, headaches, panic attacks, depending. Sometimes not. But usually, something."

Mustang nodded with a dour look. The doc was making a good lead-in, but he did not want to be lead where this was going.

"I want to try a couple of these very promising new sedatives to see if they work for him, and I want to conduct these test doses before we do the meeting with Alphonse. Because," he added hastily when Mustang took a breath to start to object. "Edward will no doubt need something before that meeting is over, and I for one think that we should try to handle it by containing him, not by knocking him out. As of right now, I don't have what I consider to be a decent drug that will give us that option."

"You've slowed him down before. I've seen it."

"Ed has built up resistance to the drugs we've used on him most often. The lighter dosages he can fight off, and at dosages high enough to have an impact , he's pretty much out. It's even more pronounced now that he's getting some strength back."

"He fights it because he hates the way it feels. I don't think you're going to change that."

"Now, wait. What I'm trying to come up with here is something he can live with. Something that relaxes him without making him feel so vulnerable, something he won't hate. I think that these medications are promising. We have to think in terms of his health as well as his mental state. Intramuscular injections are effective in an emergency, when we need to tranquilize him to prevent bodily harm. But it was never the intent that he would get them so often. I'm not talking about anything even remotely in the class of the heavy barbiturates he was on in the ward; what you see detailed there are a couple of the new anxiolytics that are worth a try."

"So what are we talking here. How much time do you need? A couple of days? We keep delaying this, and it just makes it harder on them. At this point they're both getting desperate to move forward."

"Well…I'm trying to meet you halfway. One of the drugs has very quick efficacy, and likewise, fast elimination from the system. I'll try that first, and a day or two should be a decent indicator of its potential. The other takes longer, about four to seven days to reach full effectiveness. I'm guessing that you're going to veto that one?"

"I have to think about that one. When do you want to start…what is it called?"

"It's right there in front of you, on the information sheets."

Mustang sighed, tapping the sheets on the desk, noting just how chock-full the pages were of tiny, condensed text. Almost as bad as signing requisitions for giving him headaches. These were probably just like every other drug profile he'd ever read - very little about what it was supposed to do, and volumes of negative side effects, potential harmful reactions, and statistics that usually made him wonder why anyone took anything that required so much warning and red tape; it would likely have disclaimers a mile long.

"Look. I'm asking you to be straight with me. Am I going to see anything in here that really tells me anything I need to know? Just give me the bullet points. Because, if I wade through all this and I don't get anything out of it except the fact that it might help or it might hurt, I'm not going to be in the mood to give you the go-ahead to do anything."

Gansworth's brow knit in concern - this was not the Colonel's usual level of intelligent involvement. He was caving, giving up control, basically passing up the usual regimen of second-guessing and double-checking that he had been so diligent in before. He was rubbing his forehead again, perspiring lightly despite the overly cool room temperature, looking more fatigued.

"The first medication is the more conservative approach, if only because it isn't going to last long in his system if there is a problem. Neither of them are known to be particularly hazardous or unpredictable - if they were, I wouldn't consider administering them. They should calm and relax him at low, therapeutic doses. If he's sensitive to them at low levels, he will likely be overly sleepy, and he might experience a little retrograde amnesia for the time that he's under the influence. Nothing harmful except in the rarest of cases."

Mustang slipped the sheets under the yellow pad he'd been jotting notes on, scanning the hurried longhand to make sure he could read his own handwriting later.

"Try the first one, the short-term. And set up a tentative date _within the week _for Al to make his first visit to Ed's room. No more stalling."

xxxxxxxxxx

"So what's the scoop? What's going on in there now?"

"Don't sit on my desk, Havoc. As a matter of fact, get your butt out of here. He said you're supposed to start actually going off-duty when you're off-duty. Scat!"

"Lieutenant, I'm wounded! And here I thought you'd like my company. We don't see each other around much at all anymore."

"Oh, save it. I know you're just here eavesdropping. Which is why I'm not going to shut up and let you."

"Doc's sure been in there a long time."

Riza shook her head, giving him her patented death glare. "I _will_ shoot you."

"Think they're worried about the thing I shot?"

"You mean the thing you missed?" she razzed. "No carcass means no take-down."

"I nailed it. I have three witnesses. Four, probably, if we could track down the target."

"You realize you've been here on duty for weeks now without proper R&R. It's not smart, Jean. Especially with the kind of responsibilities you have now."

"It's not that easy to walk away. I mean, right now, Corsair's in there with Al and Winry. Al hates that. So I know that's hard on him if I stay away the whole shift."

"Al likes Cory. They got along just fine the last time I saw them together. Why would that be a problem?"

"Not since Winry's been here. Too close in age. Al thinks he's flirting with her."

"Ooh. He'd better not be. Did you warn him?"

"Hell, yes! Of course, he says he's not and that he'll watch it, but you know, he's just one of those guys."

"Isn't that the truth. But that's no reason to let him play Romeo when it's inappropriate. He can straighten up when he's motivated, take it from me. Maybe I'll have a few words with him."

"Al shouldn't be left in that position right now, though. I'm going back here in a minute."

"How about if I take a shift? You really have to get out of here for a while. The Colonel means business."

"I appreciate it, but spell me later. What the heck, I really don't have anything else to do."

"What do you mean by that? Don't you realize how hard your lady friend has been trying to see you lately? I'm getting a little put out taking all these messages."

"I always mean business," Mustang interrupted drolly, leaning in the doorway. "You people should know that by now."

"Colonel! Is everything okay?"

"Go see your lady friend, Havoc."

"Oh, that. You know, that was never going to work out. We had this discussion before. It's no big deal."

"She called you twice today already. At least call her back," Riza scolded.

"Call her back, Havoc. Do you need me to help you out? I'll be glad to tag along if you're nervous about explaining why you've been such an oaf about returning phone calls." Mustang scratched at his head innocently. "Negotiating with the ladies is one of my specialties."

"All right, all right. I'll do it. But not right now."

"I'll be wanting to hear the full report," Mustang stifled a yawn and stepped back to let Gansworth go hurrying by, either annoyed or preoccupied beyond the niceties of acknowledgments and goodbyes.

"Colonel, you need to get some rest yourself. What's with you two, anyway? No, make that three, because I saw Alex sneak by heading back to Ed's room not twenty minutes ago," Hawkeye said.

"I don't know. Havoc, get the hell out of here. I'll deal with Armstrong when I see him later." Mustang turned his attention to Riza's desk calendar, moving on. "Is Breda late?"

"Your meeting broke up a little early, Colonel. He's got three more minutes."

He nodded in satisfaction. The day Heymans Breda showed up late for a meeting would be a very cold day indeed. In precisely two and one-half minutes, the tread of his boots could be detected far down the hallway.

Mustang could swear that the man was adjusting his pace to make sure that he arrived on the dot.

"Sir! Reporting…"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on in," Mustang shook his head and went into his office.

Breda gave a concerned look to Hawkeye before following his commanding officer.

"Door, Lieutenant. How far have you gotten with your assignment?"

Breda closed the door and approached the desk, holding out an aluminum clipboard. "It's everything I've been able to put together so far."

Mustang was not disappointed. The top page was a timeline, carefully detailed on graph paper. The pages beneath detailed the significance of each timeline entry.

"How did this go?"

"I took the majority of the information directly from the official reports, starting with the precursors to Colonel Hughes' murder, although there's not much there. Not a lot of data directly related to the subject matter until I entered the leads that turned up just before the incident with Edward."

"Wait. Where are the entries from the contact logs from Central? I know Fuery hasn't finished analyzing them, but there were quite a few things there that belong in here."

"Sir." Breda smiled and reached out , enlightening Mustang by releasing the catch and opening the face of the board, revealing the papers in the compartment underneath. "That would be on the unofficial version."

The Colonel's wry smile pleased him.

"Always thinking."

"Never know who might be looking over your shoulder in Files. Wouldn't want the wrong people to know that we acquired those logs."

"This is even more impressive. Enough for a pattern analysis?"

"Yes, but…not enough to come up with anything beyond the obvious. Still plenty of holes to fill in."

"Then keep at it. I think that you might be able to get something from Alphonse. Just schedule a time when Havoc is on duty in case he gets upset. Then see what Ms. Rockbell can tell you about her experiences. And then…I'd like you to start talking to Ed. Nothing direct at first, go slow and go easy on him. How long since the last time you visited him?"

"Haven't. Sir."

"At all?"

'No, sir. I'm, uh, not one for having visitors myself when I'm sick, so I don't really…I just haven't been to see him. Well, I was there when we dug up Al, but…"

"Hopefully he remembers you well enough. When you do go in to see him, be sure to let him know that I sent you, and before he tells you anything, give him your hand. Right up to his face. Tell him I said to check you properly before he talks."

Breda nodded, dutifully taking notes although it was redundant for a man with memory skills that included near audio-recorder perfect retention. It wasn't that he was unskilled at interviewing people. He just was not very comfortable interacting with them, particularly when it involved getting into their personal, emotional space.

Everyone seemed to be very personally and emotionally involved in all of the incidents in this troublesome timeline. And Ed…well, he was sort of hoping to wait to see him until sometime after he had his head back on straight.

But orders were orders. And with the Colonel so obviously stretched tight and thin, this was no time to start questioning them.

"Yes, sir. I have several other sources I'm checking on as well."

"Knew I could count on you. Come to me right away if you have a breakthrough. Are you doing a map?"

"No, sir. Should I?"

"Yes. With all of the events, dated. Relate them…"

"To the timeline. Absolutely. That will help tie things together. I should have thought of it myself; great idea."

"Thank you. Here, have the Lieutenant make copies and we'll secure them. Just be careful and cross-ID everyone before you start asking anything. You can leave the door open on your way out. Dismissed."

Breda made a quick swat of a salute before turning to leave, waved off halfway through as Mustang leaned down to fish in his side drawer.

He brought the copper bowl out to turn it in his hands for what must have been the hundredth time, trying to understand how it fit in the puzzle. It was a testament to how scant the physical evidence was that had been left to them by the enemy aside from the ravages of Fullmetal's body and the few artifacts left at the scene of that crime.

The rat attack, with its telltale infection, appeared to be a positive match for the organisms breeding on the desecrated remains found strewn on the battlefield. Careless, blatant and left for all the world to see, it felt different from the other incidents.

Ed had been left in such a way that graphically displayed how he had suffered his fate. The horror was almost artistically rendered. It was the element that first struck his gut, without any other evidence, that this was related to Hughes' murder. The scene in the phone booth had been unmistakably crafted after the man fell dead from the gunshot wounds, the arrangement of his limbs, the placement of the firearm that he had, for unknown reasons, been unable to discharge in his defense. The family photo surely had not leapt from the man's pocket of its own accord and by chance come to rest in what would have been his field of vision if he still had the power of sight.

But the call and contact logs from Central hinted that far more was known. That the radical prison experiments that they had uncovered were simply being re-buried, much deeper, and now those files included Hughes' murder. Being told to let intelligence handle it was just a ploy to shake him off the scent. No one was investigating, and the only compound on high alert was this one. Their carefree level of comfort could only mean that they already knew the answers and were in control of the situation.

Mustang believed that the military's upper echelon had an agenda that somehow justified sacrificing its own men to the attackers Ed described. He guessed that they were top-secret tools of war that sometimes slipped the leash, and the collateral damage was seen as reasonable by the top brass.

It was a lot and yet it was nothing. Breda's report supported but as yet did little to advance his theories.

If only Edward were able to paint a more lucid picture of the enemy and what their agenda was.

The bowl slipped and hit the desktop, and he caught it just before it could tumble to the floor. He was getting stupid tired trying to follow up on every lead while keeping up with his everyday work. For once, Hawkeye didn't have to push that issue. The last thing they needed was extra scrutiny from Central over missed deadlines, improperly prepared forms, or errors in budget and acquisitions.

He locked the drawer and looked up to see Riza's stern yet somehow soft glare, directed at him from the doorway.

"You should take your own advice, Colonel, and go get some rest. I'm very impressed, all the paperwork is done and I didn't have to remind you once."

"It's early yet. What I need now is the roster for next week. And set up an appointment with Messerschmitt. I want to go over what happened on that last assignment."

"Yes, sir," she acknowledged, relenting to the forceful tone of his voice. His eyes were glittering with strain but the attitude clearly indicated that he was not going to entertain her suggestion.

_I should remind him_, she thought, _that he needs to stay rested and sharp. That his decisions tend to be reckless when he they aren't tempered with a clear mind._

But knowing him so well meant knowing when talking was just wasted breath. This was one of those times.

She went to fetch the roster and told herself she was just being overly dramatic; the door still ajar, she could clearly hear the familiar cadence as he indulged in his annoying habit of impatiently drumming on the desktop with his thumbs.

xxxxxxx

Perfect, Envy snickered to himself, toting the double-burden of squirming sacks with ease.

"Please," cried a female voice muffled by the thick canvas. "Please don't! Let us go. You have to let my baby go! Help! Help!"

Sometimes human civilization did you favors far beyond your wildest expectation, Envy mused, ignoring her completely. The local charity home for unwed mothers was made to order, a one-stop shop for his very specific needs.

They were in the tunnels now. He voice echoed loudly, but that was unimportant. There was no one here who would care to help some unidentified human, no matter how much racket it made.

He untied the larger bag and flung it into the cell, waiting for her frantic debut.

"Oh no, oh no, where am I? Why did you bring me here? Molly!" She came pawing out as soon as she hit the ground, but too late to escape as bars reformed to seal the opening she had been delivered through.

"I've got your kid right here," Envy sighed, already bored. It was a case of the usual hysterics, the inane reaching and clawing into the air through the bars, as if the fool thought that her human arm could lengthen and grab something ten feet away. How he wished she'd just get it over with. "She…it's a she, right? She'll be just fine and dandy if you do as you're told. I don't need your services for long." He estimated this wet nurse would last close to three weeks, given Rage's current rate of progress, and her youth and good health.

"Give her back! Now!"

Envy sighed again, hauling the wailing infant out of the other bag, cradling it in the crook of one arm and wrapping a hand around its vibrating pink throat. "You're both so irritating. Maybe I'll end this now and get someone else who isn't such a pain."

"Molly! No, don't! Please don't hurt her!"

Envy set the squirming bundle down and waited now that his position of power was clear, eyes distant, thinking of other things even as he silently predicted her behavior. Screaming, then crying, then finally getting some self-control back. Realization, bargaining, then clinging to false hope by agreeing to do the task. It would take a little while. He'd have to explain the procedure a few times, and repeat the simple rules and the dire consequences of disobedience. If she rushed the bars when he brought food, failed to properly care for Rage, or mishandled her own sanitary needs so that she needed more than minimal maintenance, he would return her child minus its head. Cooperate, and the two would be released unharmed within a week. She only had to put up with it for a short time; to refuse at the cost of her child's life would be unthinkable.

Lies, of course. Once she began to perform her tasks, she would be locked in, and it would just take a reminder of little - Molly, it was this time - of little Molly's peril to keep her at it well beyond the promised week. By the time Rage began to damage her beyond repair, he'd just pluck another replacement nanny from the home, taking advantage of the revolving-door nature of the residency there and the anonymity inherent in the success of the program. They might notice eventually that they were experiencing more than the usual drop-out rate, but even that wasn't a concern. The generic images he wore to lure the girls away were different every time, and never even vaguely like his own. In fact, this time he'd amused himself by morphing into an Alphonse-Edward composite, luring her away by flirting her into carelessness with forged Elric gallantry and good looks. He was getting awfully damned bored with all of it, so a little diversion wasn't out of line. The shocked reaction when her kind, handsome prince overpowered and gagged her before stuffing her into a sack was priceless.

"So, do you think you can handle the job?" he concluded, scooping little Molly off of the damp tunnel floor and holding her up to give her teen mommy one last look.

"I will. I will, but please, please, please let me keep her with me. I can take care of both of them. That way she'll be no trouble for you. Please! How can you be so cruel?"

Envy shook his head, a lock of golden hair falling across his eyes, the falsely handsome face cold and annoyed. "Shut up now. Or else."

Her whimper would have to do in lieu of silence. He tucked the little one into the red cape tied across his body as a baby carrier.

She was struggling to be brave, trying to make sense of the instructions, touching the few items in the cell that seemed to be for her alone. She would need the food to produce milk and the supplies to maintain sanitary conditions - but where were the diapers, the crib - the baby?

"Don't look so stupid. It's right there under the bucket."

"In the c-cage?" She asked incredulously. "But that's not…what is that thing?"

"Watch your mouth, bitch. You just take care of it as if it were your very own - if you ever want to see you own again."

And as with her predecessors, she couldn't drum up the wits, let alone the backbone, to control the hysterics as he walked away. He could have hurried, but he kind of liked this part, the part where the spineless idiot went into complete overload as the reality of the situation began to set in.

As expected, her hysterics diminished once he was far enough away that the curve of the tunnel took him out of her sight. _Just wait until she got a load of the shit she'd suffer taking care of Rage._

He snickered and took another look at his cargo while bounding back to the entrance of the lair. Five months old tops, he estimated from the look of the reddened little tear-streaked face with its unhappily protruding lower lip. Estimating their age, predicting their behavior - he was proud of his fledgling human husbandry skills. And with a few more of these treats, he might actually have Gluttony on his side the next time Lust got in one of her shitty moods; for some reason he found female infants to be the greatest delicacy of all.

"Gluttony!" he bellowed, but the scent must have preceded him. He could hear the rotund homunculi approaching already. "Okay, big guy. Get it while it's hot!"

The ensuing feeding frenzy was just background noise for Lust's snarling reception.

"Where have you been?"

"Taking care of things. Probably a lot more than you've been doing."

"I have to talk to you. One of the defectors is going to take a crack at finishing your job and he'll need to know some details. I think it would be a good idea for you to tell him what you've learned about when the guard shifts are and where the Elrics are being housed in the building."

"No luck with your hunky Havoc? Giving up, really? Awww.w.w.w…"

"Who says I'm giving up? I'm not. I'll do my job, Envy. You're the one who doesn't have the backbone to deliver. So all you need to do this time is stick around here for a while. Our helper is coming by on the way to the compound today."

"And he can get in? With security the way it is?"

"With no trouble at all. He's an officer in Bradley's command; and by the way, that's a very good reason for you to leave Edward alone now. Once we're ready to move, he can go in and extract the Elrics at a moment's notice. But he can only pull it off once."

Envy growled inwardly. Lust wanted Ed left to Mustang's care. It was sound logic, he had to give her that. When the time came, they merely had to send in Bradley's man to pull Ed and his brother out of there suddenly. Flaunt it, and Mustang wouldn't be far behind trying to get them back - giving them a lovely set of three sacrifices, all freshly delivered in one smooth move. Pretty clever.

But that scheme didn't leave any room for Envy to have exclusive possession of Edward, mind, body and soul, before the Day, and there was no guarantee that he'd survive for fun and games afterward. Father would have Ed solely for his purposes, and Envy would be left wanting.

Lust's plan was just that, _her_ plan, and he wasn't caving in to it so easily. As long as the sacrifices were delivered on the appointed day, nothing else should matter.

"Fine. I'll tell him what I know." He shifted into his preferred image and stretched, still mulling over strategies to get what he wanted.

"Good. What did you feed him, anyway?" she asked, lofting a slender finger in Gluttony's direction.

"Just a snack." His reply was nearly drowned out by a wet burp.

"Ahhhh…nice," the fat homunculus sighed, looking like he was ready for a nap. "Envy's nice!"

Lust rolled her eyes at Envy's smug smile of acknowledgement.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Familiar surroundings didn't necessarily translate into comfort; the narrow, aging office was testimony to that fact.

Medical degrees hung like blank stares all across the wall behind his chair; remove one and the spot would be held by a distinct outline in the yellowing paint. This had been his kingdom, such as it was, for many years now. It saw much more of his 'free' time than his austere civilian digs ever had. The cold slab of composite desktop had lost its shine from supporting his jacketed elbows long ago. It made for an unattractive, perfectly suitable surface for contemplating problems that defied solution. He never considered a change of venue as anything that would add value to those efforts.

He rested his glasses carefully on the notepad, rubbing his eyes in thought.

Ed's was a case without peer - the only nod to whatever deity that might be accused of running this sick show. The only good thing about his situation was its singularity. Even one case like this was far too many.

Trying to decide on a treatment plan was an like trying to hit an invisible moving target. Gansworth picked at the edge of a thick folder, number seven in a set of twelve, just a select portion of the myriad notes and records on Ed's condition he'd gleaned from the medical files here and the cram-packed boxes sent over from Psych. It had been a lengthy proposition going through it all, scanning, sorting and placing the most significant items in more or less chronological order for reference. So much information, so many details, nearly every page a nail-biter. What to address today? What symptoms would be presenting now, in 10 more minutes, an hour? If he was calm and communicative, what deeply submerged damage should be encouraged to the surface for exorcism first?

With Ed, and with Al, the choices were legion. Kick off with their delicate formative years: blatant paternal abandonment, tragic maternal loss; orphan-hood due to perceived paternal rejection. Go next into guilt, recrimination, gross physical injury and psychological trauma from the transmutation event.

Then prematurely thrust them, unaided, into adulthood, one rife with violence and life-threatening situations, without any home or family reference points for support. There were likely plenty of psyche-rattling events the boys wouldn't even classify as notable and never relate to anyone if he didn't dig them out through therapy.

Even without access to Ed's first-hand account of his early childhood, Gansworth could surmise a great deal from the events. Guilt may have been feasting on Edward when he was still small enough for his mother to lift for a hug. Comments from his brother painted a picture of a small boy who was always confident, boisterous and proud, lording it over his sibling in the classic manner of very young big brothers. That confidence was snuffed suddenly, lost in the blast of the long, cold stare that his father fixed upon him when the man excised himself from their lives without a word of goodbye.

Children being what they are, Ed was deeply and unshakably convinced that his prideful misbehavior caused his father to leave them all; leading to sadness and death for his mother despite his frantic efforts at reform, bonding desperately with his brother instead of fighting, educating himself relentlessly to become a full-fledged alchemist and fill the shoes that now were empty thanks to his thoughtless ways. His resentment and bitterness towards the missing man for the pain his precious mother and brother experienced was nothing compared to the self-loathing for being the cause of it all.

In light of that, it was nearly inevitable that her illness and death would send Edward spiraling out of control while deluding himself that somehow, some way, he would put all the broken pieces back together. He wanted to be a good boy, struggling to earn that title even now; but no matter how great the effort, the gap between the tragic events and his capability to make amends grew to ever-greater, eventually epic proportions.

It may have been a key component in surviving the torture. Perhaps it was that very gauntlet that served to harden the boys so they did manage to survive. Yet Gansworth suspected that in Ed's eyes, all of the punishment to date still fell far short of what he deserved.

It made sense that Ed would find this meeting with Al to be nearly unbearable. Even the smallest chance that this was not Al was too much. If he had failed to save his little brother's life after all…Gansworth himself could not contemplate the existential cruelty of that scenario. Great care would have to be taken in handling that meeting to assure that Edward fully understood that his brother was healthy and whole once more.

Alphonse got his start in the guilt game much later but was already a strong contender. Al was a harder read than Ed; there were no supporting records, no medical trail from induction to the present. And unlike Ed, no brother able to describe the impressions of his past behavior. His traumatic experiences were so bizarre it was difficult to quantify the effects. Like the years spent appended to the armor, the live burial was a fact - but Gansworth truly could not imagine either experience. Al, by all accounts from staff, had been tough, principled and selfless in an incongruously sweet and innocent way. His self-control and diplomacy were the traits he defined himself by, by his own admission. It shook him inside and out to find he was losing control, overcome with bouts of unpredictable rage and unable to suppress his emotional needs even when in front of others.

His single folder was starting to plump up as their sessions made some headway; but it seemed that the most revealing information Al provided was about Edward.

The brothers were indeed close, as everyone insisted, but the bonds of pure brotherly love were far more complicated than what could be seen at a glance. Each time the discussions with Al touched on their relationship, there was no predicting what might be revealed. There was an odd discord between the stated need to protect one another at nearly any cost, and their actual behavior, which largely consisted of assuming that they would both emerge unscathed as they lept headlong into one death-defying feat after another.

Their experience with the homunculi had suppressed the reckless behavior and amplified the need for protection. Ed had been insistent during the session completed just hours earlier that certain people needed to be protected in addition to Alphonse. Mustang was mentioned in particular; odd that he should single out the strongest man as one of the most vulnerable.

Probably just more disjointed thinking. There was going to be a lot of that now that the young man was struggling to step back into 'normal' life.

The responses in that session would serve as a baseline; the first dose of the new medication, a half-dose, was administered last thing. If there were no adverse reports he would get the other half in a couple of hours, then start the full dose tomorrow. With any luck, there would be measurable improvement in his responses as soon as tomorrow afternoon.

Exhausting, that was the word for it. For everyone involved, this situation had been exerting such a tremendous strain for so long it was starting to muddy the roles of caretaker, physician, guardian and personal friend. Everyone seemed to feel responsible for everything. The potential for mistakes and misunderstandings grew as people began to fudge on the rules and overstep bounds.

He traced circles on the pad, reflecting on the note Ed still could not write to his brother no matter what his mood or how hard he tried. Alphonse similarly expressed a great desire to send a message to Ed, but always found excuses to put it off.

With an abrupt shake of his head he closed up shop on the whole mess and slapped all of the files into a stack, pushing them aside. Further resolute, he rose and took them across the room and set them out of reach on the file cabinet.

_Focus_, he chastised himself, digging into the case files of the other patients to catch up. It wouldn't do to drop any balls because of preoccupation. Glasses back on and reasonably straight in the chair, he pushed the Elric saga out of mind to tackle his backlog of official duties.

xxxxxxx

"Hey, kid, how's it going?"

Ed's hands went to his face, covering everything up to the amber eyes that widened to watch him enter the room.

"Hey, Lieutenant," Enfield greeted amiably, checking ID on autopilot.

Havoc was similarly used to juggling the tray during the process.

They exchanged glances, Enfield with the slight twitch to his eye, signaling that it was a day with more downs than ups.

Havoc's nod of understanding closed the loop with Ed none the wiser.

"What was that, Boss?"

Ed shook his head. All he had said was 'you're here,' and it was more to himself than anyone. Coming to grips with what might lie ahead while carrying out his plan wasn't easy. So many bad things could happen, on top of the bad things this course of action would certainly commit him to. So much could go wrong, and he was just one person. A person with a long way to go in getting stronger, and so little time to do it in. He had to find a back-up for the old responsibilities unavoidably abandoned in the process, but he couldn't tell a soul about his plan.

Most of the ideas he came up with fell apart when he thought them through. One of the few that held promise involved this man and some statements that he'd made along the way. It was a mortifying thing to ask for this. It was for Al, and so he'd do it, but it ran contrary to every stubborn fiber of his being. The worst of it was, he had come to realize that he didn't have to pretend; he sorely wished this for himself as well as for Al. And the last thing he wanted to do was expose this terrible weakness, this unmanly neediness, to anyone.

"Got you covered on the food front, Boss."

Ed nodded, ignoring the tray, barely seeing the worried blue eyes even though they were locked with his.

"I…"

Havoc waved a hand at Enfield without looking away from Ed, acknowledging his announced departure for a break.

Ed's hand came away from his face to motion to the chair, indicating that Havoc should sit.

"Right. Thanks. Want me to hand you some of this?"

"Un-uh."

"Gotta eat, buddy." Havoc picked up the troubled, distracted vibe. "You want to talk about it?"

It was hard to know how to start. "I was waiting for you."

"Was I supposed to be here sooner? I'm sorry, I didn't know you were expecting me."

"No, you…" Ed covered his eyes for a moment, struggling. "I was just thinking about you. You said something, sometime, at least, I think you did. A couple of times. I'm pretty sure. I just…it would be creepy to bring this up if you didn't."

Not sure if the 'something' being attributed to him was good or bad, Havoc hedged his bets.

"I'm not going to think you're being creepy, Boss. If you think I said something I'd sure appreciate it if you'd tell me what it was. Especially if you're worried about it."

"You said brother!" Ed blurted. "Brothers, brothers. Didn't you?"

"Worried about seeing Al, huh?" Havoc started to relax a little. "Did I say something about it that's been bothering you?"

"Bothering, no, I…you see him, right? He likes you, doesn't he?"

"We get along just fine. He's a good kid."

"Does he look up to you?"

Havoc took a moment at the odd question. "Maybe a little; I guess so."

Ed nodded, averting his face. This was so embarrassing, yet it was ridiculous that he should be so worried about being embarrassed when the stakes were so high. Risk life and limb, fine. Show a little emotional need…almost too much.

"You and I, we…connect, kind of. You said…you said something about your little brother. That I was kind of like him."

It was actually his little sister he'd been thinking of, but he kept that to himself. "You're remembering pretty well. I think that's what I said. Does it bother you?"

"I just wondered why you said that . What you meant. Like, why? Did you feel that we…that you and I…well, if we could be like…that you might think like that…about us?"

"Like what, Ed?"

"Like brothers? Do you think that…maybe could you…think that we could all be…like three brothers?"

"We. Do you mean you, me and Al?"

Ed nodded.

"Let me ask first. Would that be okay with you?"

Ed nodded again, quickly, anxious for the final answer.

Havoc was startled, but not unpleasantly. _He wants it. He's looking for assurance that I'm serious about returning that commitment._

"Then I think it's a great idea. I'd be proud to be an honorary Elric brother. You _have_ come to seem like a brother to me, but I didn't want to complicate things by saying it that way if you didn't feel the same."

"And to Al, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Al too."

"You'll be our big brother? Not just playing around, not just for a while? It has to be like the real thing. Like real brothers, forever."

Unexpectedly overwhelmed by Ed's complete vulnerability, Havoc felt a strong surge of protectiveness, a need to be reassuring. Here was Ed nearly begging for an emotional tie between them when, no matter how bad off he'd been up until now, he had clearly been fighting to maintain a perimeter with his sense of pride and independence.

"I feel that way already. If you want me to make some kind of commitment to you, I will."

"To us," Ed emphasized. "I don't know how Al is going to take this. I don't want him to be upset. He might, I don't know, he might not like me making that decision for him, but we need to have you there. I don't know how I'll make it up to you, but if you can just get Al to accept you somehow, I'll owe you forever."

Havoc jumped on the chance to ease Ed's worries. Ed sounded like he was finally convinced that his brother was here and alive, and he was having to deal with what that implied. Al had been feeling guilty about having this very sort of camaraderie because he thought it might not be fair to Ed; now, it was not only perfectly acceptable, it was a perfect way to help them both ease their minds.

"You don't have to worry about that one bit. Funny, Al and I had nearly the same sort of conversation, and he was a little worried about how you would react. But it looks like we're all on the same page, doesn't it? Soon we'll have the two of you back together, and I can be right there for the both of you. I have to tell you, I feel honored. How about a hug to seal the deal. Manly hug - right?" he joked. Ed plowed right into his chest to take that hug, and his breathing sounded rough as if he were trying not to cry.

_I've got you, kid_, he thought, turning the hug into a gentle hold when his newfound sibling stuck like glue. _I think we've got something here that's finally going to work for both of you._

It took a beat to start taking in the significance of Havoc's words as they spilled out in the kindest, softest tones he'd heard the soldier use yet. Al had already asked. Al had already sensed the need to replace him, and had already taken care of it himself. It seemed that his worries, and this agonizing exchange, weren't even necessary.

It hurt so much he couldn't believe it. Physical wounds paled in comparison to the idea of being so quickly and easily replaced. Al must have lacked confidence in his abilities; and clearly he didn't feel as strongly about their ties. Maybe there was too much hatred and resentment to overcome for hiding him in such a barbaric manner. Maybe Al only wanted to see him again in order to come to terms with moving on without him. He launched into Havoc's arms seeking relief from the stomach-turning shock, already berating himself for having that reaction. This was the answer to one of the toughest concerns that had to be resolved in relation to his still-developing master plan. It was the perfect solution. It made him completely and utterly expendable in this world, without causing heartache for anyone, freeing him to do what must be done once and for all.

Why he had ever thought that achieving this goal would be liberating? It wasn't uplifting; it was wretched and crushing.

"Why don't you tell me what you're thinking? Because, hey, that's what I'm here for now. That's a big brother's role. And now you'll get to find out what it feels like to be the younger brother for a change. Now you get to be both."

But Ed didn't respond, and with a sinking sense of concern, Havoc came to realize that it wasn't happiness Ed was overcome with, but something else.

"Did I say something wrong? If I did, please tell me." Havoc's fingers slid into his coat pocket and worried at its contents, unsure whether he would be able to show it to Ed now or not.

"No," Ed whispered. "You said everything right."

Al would have an older brother to protect and care for him; and as terribly difficult as it was to accept, it didn't have to be his blood relation. Havoc's kind attempts to get his attention and make him talk about what was wrong only rubbed salt in the wound at first.

But the man was tenacious and after a time, his sincere attempt to comfort his new little brother took on a light of its own. It hurt to be replaced; but Havoc was such a vital, precious source of solace that having him as an older brother, even if it was just pretend and only for a little while, felt kind of good. As his mind slogged away from the wreckage of his ego, the salve of Havoc's kindness was his lifeline.

"You feel a little better now?"

The forehead against his collarbone moved up and down slightly.

"You should have a little something while I'm here."

" 'kay."

It set Havoc's mind to buzzing, wondering where all this came from. Ed had to be under a great deal of strain anticipating his reunion with Al. They hadn't been able to work out the shift timing so that Havoc could see Ed and bring his tray in quite a while; they'd made a special effort today to try and get that back on track because it seemed directly related to a drop in Ed's food intake. He probably felt like he'd been abandoned, and this declaration of brotherhood looked like an attempt to prevent that from happening again. They'd been pretty close, at least, he felt like they were close, and this confirmed that is wasn't just one-sided. And it was important enough to Ed that he swallowed his pride and asked bluntly, putting it all on the line. He made it sound as if he had regrets about not asking earlier, that he had held back for fear of Al's reaction.

"If it's all right with you, I'll talk to Al and let you know how he feels about it. I pretty much already know, but I don't want to put words in his mouth."

"Sure. That's your job now, I guess. The oldest has to take charge of things. I guess you'll be somewhere here talking to him. Somewhere not too far away. Just seems hard to imagine it."

"Well, I…" Havoc hesitated, then produced the small square from his pocket. "I think it might help if you see this."

Purposely blurry and dark, the picture showed Havoc and Al standing together against a generic stretch of wall in the building.

Ed's mouth dropped open. He rolled his head side to side, getting different angles, riveted to the images. A questioning noise came from his throat, but no words.

Doc had told him to play it by ear and continue to convince Ed that Al really was alive and well. Per Gansworth's idea, this photo was little more than silhouettes, but the shock to Ed's system was powerful.

"You!" Ed finally managed, raking the tiny picture out of Havoc's grip, following it with his whole body as it drifted to the floor. "But…look at that…I had him! I had him, I had him, I had him!" His fists pounded the floor next to the picture. "I had him! I had him!"

Havoc got a hand on his shoulder, rode out the jerking motion that tried to ward him off. "You do have him, very close to here. You'll see him soon…"

"I had him! I had him!" The image triggered a flashback to the moment during his self-transmutation when he was a split-second away from pulling Al back from the dead. The figure had been just that, an outline that was so like this and yet so wrong. He was a hair's breadth away from succeeding when the Colonel jerked him back. This wasn't Al, but it definitely was Al, both and neither just like this image, impossible for both to be true.

The image expanded as it surged out of the photo, flying up towards the ceiling, sparkling with the glow of alchemic reaction. Ed wasn't fully aware of throwing his whole body back when he lunged upward to grab for soul of his brother before someone chased it away again. Havoc caught him cleanly, preventing a hard fall backwards. He got a good look at Ed's unfocused eyes, rimming with red and growing fevered as he clawed and strained to capture thin air. "No wait! No wait, I had him!"

Havoc held on, keeping him steady, letting him ride it out. It may have been a powerful flashback, but like so many it was quite brief.

Ed began to see ceiling tiles instead of the swirling lights of his transmutation. His hand swept through the last of the hazy presence and found nothing. "Oh no…I'm losing him…I'm losing him again!"

"No, Ed, no. He's not lost. I have him safely tucked away, very close so you can see him soon. There isn't anything there. "

Havoc's words echoed in the vision, tainting it, invalidating its place in reality.

"Where, where?" Ed's head tossed, eyes swinging in drunken arcs in every direction, weaving his way out of the blinding inner visions. "Where did he go? Give him. Give!"

"You dropped the picture. I can get it for you once you can hold still." It looked like Ed was rapidly descending back into real time, but Havoc's heart was still pounding. It was unnerving to be holding a calm lucid conversation and have one of these bizarre episodes hit out of nowhere. He would never get used to it. He wasn't aware of how upsetting it was until afterward, when he found himself having to struggle to regain his own composure.

Ed's dizzying head roll slowed. Havoc's blue eyes came into focus and their gazes locked.

Ed scrambled to organize his thoughts and feelings, suddenly aware that he'd had another failure in his fight to stay sane and stable from now on. Nothing was there, nothing had been there; he was seeing things again.

"Just hold up now. Get your balance, I've got you."

"I'm all right, let me go. I'm fine, I just…I'm tired, that's all," he panted. His hand tingled from passing through Alphonse, despite the knowledge that the scene was all in his head.

"I know it's hard to make sense of everything. Sometime you see things that…"

"No! I - it makes sense, everything makes sense, I'm fine! I told you! I didn't see anything!"

Havoc sighed and released his hold, surreptitiously monitoring Ed as he sank first to his knees, then shakily climbed up to sit on the edge of the bed. He managed to palm the photo; unless Ed asked to see it again, they were through trying to use if for "desensitization" today.

"Let's just relax a minute. That was my fault. I just wanted to show you some proof that I was telling the truth and that you don't need to worry. Sorry that I upset you. I'm not doing a very good job of helping with your meal. It's not good to get all wound up before you eat."

"I'm not wound up! You just caught me off-guard. I'm fine, so you don't have to look at me like that."

Havoc plowed ahead rather than argue, setting out the grape juice again. "Well, then, that's good. Here, I know you like this."

But Ed used the back of his wrist to push away the offering as he popped up and took a couple of labored steps to face the door.

"Maybe later." That doorway lead to Al -the real Al. Havoc had been more convincing than ever, with all his talk about their close relationship. He knocked his fists together distractedly, fretting over what to do about it.

"We need to settle down. If it takes time, that's fine. But this meal is really what I'm here for. We need to get something in you."

"Ugh. I don't want anything." Ed wasn't lying; his appetite was as dead as his stomach was in knots.

The Lieutenant recognized that tone of voice. He slipped a warm hand under the gray t-shirt and lightly rubbed a warm, open palm over the tense abdomen to soothe it. Ed gasped softly at the first contact.

"Does it hurt pretty bad?"

"N-no. It just doesn't feel good." He strained a bit against the touch; it would probably help his stomach, but it was just enough gentle pressure to overcome his attempt to take another step to the doorway. It added another dimension to the already complex internal fight when he got the urge to break loose from his self-imposed hiding place. It was impossible to reconcile the concept of being afraid to go out into the hallway of the building, with everything else he'd been able to brave, when Alphonse was supposed to be mere footsteps away. It somehow seemed easier to trade his life in the surreal dimension than to walk out and face his own silly fear.

"Hold up, hold up, let's work on this. Breathe deep and relax, let's give it a chance to get better. It'll be all right. I'm sorry I haven't been able to come by. I promise to start coming more often."

Ed managed another step; but Havoc wasn't letting go. He moved with him, persistent in applying the calming ritual.

"What is it, Ed? What's going on? Can you tell me?"

"I should be…" Ed's hand waved in a helpless gesture and dropped to his side. It was more a case of what he shouldn't be; anything he said now could be a slip; any help that he sought might bring attention that would interfere with his goals. Whining to Havoc might help ease the pain, but the potential cost was too high. They were supposed to set up a meeting soon and trying to push things on his own might complicate things, make them guard him more closely, perhaps even drug him beyond the odd new chemical already playing with his body right now. "Never mind."

An older brother. Havoc was too kind. Too good. He was a better older brother for Al than his screw-up blood relative ever was. Al deserved someone like this to rely on; and there was no way Ed would involve them in something as dangerous as his plan now. If the Second Lieutenant realized that the request for a sibling 'adoption' was born of pure manipulation to provide for his brother's future, it might be hurtful as well as suspicious, so it was important to play the part of middle brother to the hilt.

It was just that it felt so real; confusingly, achingly real when Havoc stepped up in that role.

"That's it. Feels like the knots are softening up. "

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Havoc's smile was warm and a little worried as he used his free hand to ruffle Ed's hair.

"Seems like we can drop the formalities now, doesn't it? Call me Jean."

As the strong fingers made that playful contact, the room pulsed in reaction with a thick, cold pressure. Ed swallowed hard, caught in the slipstream of yet another memory's path as it cracked open with the spoken name.

"Jean?" The sensation and sound threw the world into discordant déjà vu until it locked into crystal clarity at a moment in time in the nearby hallway, when the world had been lashed to the whims of the weather and latent memory.

His hand was shaking so hard by the time it met with Havoc's sleeve it was nearly impossible to worry the cloth between his thumb and forefinger.

"Jean. So tall," he gasped, parroting the words as they found vivid context in the thoughts and feelings aroused back when Havoc began coaxing him back from the gray of standby.

It was a shock for Havoc as well, instantly recognizing the words and fretful tug at his clothing.

He didn't know if this was a positive memory for Ed, but the scene it evoked in his own mind made his heart skip a beat. Ed was trembling all over, mouth agape.

"That's right. I remember that, too. Seems like forever ago. You've been through quite a few changes since all that happened, haven't you? I guess I know just how far you've come, because I've been here all along." The words tumbled out of his mouth on impulse, not sure what might come as a comfort.

The man was a thread that seemed to start and stop through the rough timeline of pieced memories; but this was the first true shock of being able to look back that far and see that continuity.

Havoc had been his navigation star back when he was lost beyond any reasonable hope. Understanding how important he was gave rise to a newer, more desperate dread of losing him when the time came to leave, and a fear that without him, he would not be nearly so strong and resolved.

The coarse blue material was evoking those strange, gut-rattling disturbances so familiar from those days. Back then, the action would briefly tear aside the defenses of his damaged, segregated realm; his tactile senses allowed him to feel his way along the path to the human contact he craved. Even now it revealed just how tentative his grip was on the world.

He let go, pulling away. He looked to Havoc, searching, shaken, anxious to convince himself that he was fine, that the feeling was false, just residue from a time when he was seriously disturbed. These flashbacks were coming with greater frequency, in shattering detail, many of them fully immersive. The only saving grace was the duration, rarely more than just a few minutes, some times measured in mere seconds…

But in the midst of battling the homunculi, even one second of disabling mental error was enough to be fatal. It had to stop. Somehow, he had to get a handle on them, make them stop.

"Ed…" Havoc's voice was heavy with worry. Maybe it was this new sedative the doc was using on him; he hadn't seen Ed go through this many shifts in and out of reality in such a short time. But then again, it had been awhile since he spent any length of time watching over him.

"I'm okay! I'm okay now, look, look!" He made a clumsy lunge for the food tray, away from the hovering hand that might touch his hair again. The new automail clutched the juice with uncontrolled force and burst the container before he could lift it.

Havoc dodged a jet of of sticky purple liquid, more concerned with getting Ed to calm down. "No big, it's all right, I'll get that in a sec."

"Stupid…stupid crappy automail!"

"It's not a problem, I'll get you another drink."

"Ahh…" Ed squeezed his eyes shut, barely able to resist covering his face with his dripping, sticky palms. He could detect Havoc mopping up the spill after relieving him of the crushed plastic. He didn't look again until a wet cloth began cleaning his hands, as if he were some untidy toddler.

"Just an accident, not a problem," Havoc said mildly, in hopes of drawing him out. "New automail is pretty hard to manage. I bet Al helped you learn to use the first set, didn't he?"

"Sure," Ed replied, almost a whisper, watching. "Long time ago."

"There. Good as new."

"You can do it for Al now. Help him when he has an accident. Like I would."

"We both can, sure. It won't be much longer, Ed. I know this is hard on you. I think we've gone way beyond expecting you to be patient."

"It's fine, Lieu…er, Jean. It's fine. I didn't mean to mess things up; I'll do what you want me to now." And for just this little while, it seemed okay to stop struggling while Havoc had things under control, just so long as he stayed close enough to fulfill the occasional urge to touch his uniform coat.

But he couldn't quite shake off the seeds of self-doubt, tainting the rest of their quiet time together and making the meal barely tolerable.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Al, are you tired?"

"No. No, I was just thinking about Ed. Not worrying or anything. I was just trying to do what the doctor said."

"The positive visualization again?" Winry asked, setting aside her notebook. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Al nodded. "Yeah, but I'm not sure how positive it is to be too positive. It feels kind of, I don't know, like, I'm just kidding myself. I can picture these great moments, where we're all good and happy, but come on. I don't see how that helps. It isn't going to be that way at all. Right?"

"I know, I thought it sounded kind of strange at first. I think he meant it to be a goal for the future. So you can stay focused on the positive when things get rough."

"Yeah. It's another one of those psych tricks of his. I don't think it works for me."

"Hey, you gave it a try. Now you should probably do what you're comfortable with."

"I'm not comfortable with making up a bunch of fairy tales in my head to make myself feel better. I'm not a little kid."

"It's been so hard for you. But to me, I don't think he's spending enough time helping you prepare. I think I'm going to say something about it."

"No, it's all right. I'm ready. I'm ready for whatever happens. I'm gonna deal with whatever Ed's reaction is, and I'm just going to hang tough. He might not accept me at first, but I won't let that stop me. I'll do whatever it takes. Even if he," Al swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes. "even if he can't stand to have me around at first. Even if he tells me to go away. I know that's not what's best for him. He needs us, Win. I'll make him see that he needs me, and that you need to be there, too."

"That…that would be great."

"You want to know what my vision was? Not some crazy fantasy, but realistically? I see us taking him back to Risembool and I see me, with my alchemy back full bore, raising up a nice house on the family lot. And Ed isn't magically perfect, but to start out with, he's comfortable, and he's safe, and he wants to be home and he doesn't want to have anything to do with the military anymore. And we - er," Al blushed, furiously editing his dream to hide the fact that the ideal home includes Winry as his life partner - after all, it was a dream, the sky was supposed to be the limit, so he had indulged himself. "everyone ends up living happily ever after."

"I don't know if it's what the doctor had in mind, but it sounds right to me. We just have to be patient and persistent." Winry couldn't quite meet his level gaze; she still hadn't told him just how horrible her meeting with Ed had been. It felt dishonest, but it would have to be her secret a while longer. It might depress him to hear about it, and getting him to think positively was a constant struggle.

"I'm sorry, Winry. I know you have a lot of work piling up back home ," Al rushed to apologize; sensitive to her every move, he worried that she might be emphasizing the word 'patient' because she was having difficulty with it.

"Things are slow right now, so it's fine. Don't apologize. I'm here because I want to be."

Al's blush was so cute and unexpected it nearly made her giggle.

"I'm glad you want to be!" he blurted before finding some fascinating thing to look at that turned his face from view.

xxxxx

He was all alone this time. When he sent the call out for a search party, no on responded, and time was of the essence. The inhuman beasts had kidnapped a child, and Mustang knew all too well what they were capable of.

The base was silent as he thundered out, having to take the car on his own. An odd lump of dread filled his stomach that Hawkeye wasn't anywhere to be found. The bright reflections in the empty halls held the echo of his own boots and nothing more.

The edge of civilization was so close that the driving leg of the trip seemed to happen in a second. He bailed out while pulling on his gloves, stepping into the orange glare of the fierce sunlight, already perspiring. His throat tightened at the rusty pall of the air, and when he cleared the first obstacle of brush and rock, he started to run, the heavy material of his uniform coat flying out behind him with a pull that seemed deliberate. _Don't_, it seemed to say. _Don't go. You don't want to see._

Etched impressions of the day they found Fullmetal rattled in his skull, growing more vivid with every stride that took him closer to the spot where he'd been found. The smell of blood was getting thicker, but was it from memory, or was it real?

He hit the clearing with hand poised , ready to attack and dodge whatever might come his way. But nothing there was likely to be moving of its own accord.

It was just as before. The butchery was laid out and the victim was the only being to be found.

It took everything he had to fight the urge to run away. The large form, dangling from ropes and wires, was covered with a tarpolin, stained dark with blood. The mass was small, like that of a child, and from the look of the carnage, there was no way this one was going to be a survivor.

He had to check. Maybe, just maybe…

When they came upon Ed, the shock was such that he'd rushed up, aghast that his subordinate had been so gruesomely murdered, and unwisely started to take him down instead of leaving the evidence untouched.

It was only then that he realized that there was a wisp of life still stubbornly hanging on. His partially torn, partially pinned-open eyelids had crusted over and hidden the lolling pupils along with the ability to see who was moving him. The struggle that he put up, brief and insane with terror, cut every soldier in attendance like a knife. It was a memory that refused to soften with time.

Mustang carefully pulled off the tarp, mindful of being ambushed from the perimeter.

When the cover dropped, so did he, to his knees with his hands over his mouth, shaking too hard to get back up.

The body was just a torso, mutilated beyond recognition as either male or female, without arms, legs, or head. A scrap of uniform was stuck to one part of the upper body. Around the scene, bits and pieces of the blue uniform fluttered in the hot, dry wind.

He felt in his heart that it was one of his men. But there was no way to know which one.

He crawled on hands and knees, too light-headed to risk rising, gathering the scraps, looking for the body parts in the odd mix of rubble that would confirm the identity of the victim.

It took several deep breaths and all his resolve to keep sifting amid the buzzing flies in search of clues. He pulled at another tarp and instead of the expected missing limbs, he found another pile of torsos. Six, seven, maybe more. Piled next to them, identity cards, neatly stacked and waiting. His frantic hands fumbled them and they fell in a rain of the names of everyone he'd promised to lead and protect. Fuery, Breda, Havoc, Fahlman, Hawkeye, Armstrong, Elric, Brosh, Enfield…

Mustang went bolt upright in the bed and stumbled for the bathroom, crashing into the door jamb in his haste and sleeper's lack of coordination. Cold water, and plenty of it, thrown in his face just wasn't doing it. He slammed the shower on with the cold tap only and tumbled in to sit on the icy tile, welcoming the painful chill because it finally threw up a barrier, freezing the nightmare where it belonged.

Sleep was becoming more difficult, this nightmare was showing up nearly once a week now, and the threat of it made every night a challenge. He actually expected it tonight, after spending time one-on-one with Ed and having to make more decisions about his care. It didn't disappoint; this had been even more grand and graphic than the previous experiences.

He knew he should tell Gansworth. If it didn't stop soon, he'd have to. It couldn't be allowed to damage his ability to protect everyone from the threat that whispered around them in the shadows.

Otherwise, his dreams might come true.

He shivered, reaching his fill of the stinging cold, and strained up to shut off the spray. Almost too tired to get up. Maybe he could rest here for a bit.

That seemed a little crazy, so instead, he rose and peeled off his wet pajama pants, restarting the water for his morning shower.

Three A. M. was technically morning anyway, he mused, a plan forming to go peer in on the Elrics. This time of day they should be sleeping with their guards watchfully resting nearby, and he relied on that peaceful sight to buck him up for the day when these things happened.

He hurried to get ready, hungry for that peace of mind.

_tbc_


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

In the wee hours, sedated with what was now the routine half-dose, Al slept in the large room along with Winry most nights. Havoc was there night after night regardless of his assignment status; his argument was that he rested better with one eye open, on guard through the night, than wide awake and alone staring at the ceiling of his own quarters, worrying about what might happen in his absence.

Al rarely dreamed with enough animation for anyone to detect that activity, largely due to the sleeping pill. His breathing was deep and even, his expression untroubled, arguably sweet.

Winry slept without the aid of medication. She snored at times, and woke once or twice each night to quietly confirm the well-being of her restful roommates. This was the second occasion that she'd awakened and caught an exchange in the wee hours between Lt. Havoc and Colonel Mustang; as before, the serious, dark eyes scanned the room from the doorway in silence for some time before his retreat. Havoc always seemed to catch him and follow him out to the hallway for a hushed conversation any time he came by, despite the hour. This visit was no different.

Four in the morning - but it still seemed routine, there was no air of alarm. When the Lieutenant returned she feigned sleep to watch him settle back down comfortably after taking a close look at Al.

Just checking up on them, then; a Colonel does that sort of thing? At this hour? Had she been more awake, it might have had her worried. But as it was, she fell back asleep in moments, and by daybreak it was forgotten.

Armstrong went from fully asleep to red alert with the first hint of a footfall far down the corridor. Unlike Havoc's style of modified wakefulness, Alex had perfected light sleep, and any disturbance, no matter how slight, rousted him in an instant.

He felt a twinge of worry that it was indeed the Colonel once he confirmed the owner of that familiar tread, arriving so early after departing so late last night. Alex had no illusions that Mustang was here due to his workload. It had more to do with the burden of his responsibilities.

He felt a bit better when he saw the look on the Colonel's face soften; like his own tendency, the sight of Ed sleeping soundly, sleep shirt askew and tummy slightly exposed, sprawled carelessly as if he'd never had a worry in his life, was a sight he just couldn't get enough of. You had to be lucky to catch it. Ed passed through nightmares and night terrors, balled up in the fetal position, moaned and struck out at different stages each night; but this rare stretch of comfortable sleep, a leftover from his past, came up in the cycle only once in a while and it was a wonderful sight to behold. More than anything, it gave hope to his caretakers that with luck, it could become the norm instead of the rare exception.

Recharged from seeing the results of his crew's diligent attention to duty, Mustang moved through the dimly illuminated corridors until he reached his darkened office and snapped on the glaring overheads. It stung his eyes for a few seconds as night blazed into artificial day .

He had been kneading his raw thoughts and feelings for a while now, restlessly trying to come up with an answer to the challenge Gansworth had proposed to him more than once in their sometimes heated exchanges. Was he being unrealistic in his effort to help the Elrics? Did he have some God complex, a swollen ego blind to just how impossible complete recovery was going to be? Should he be more open to drugs and confinement instead of insisting on this tremendous commitment of manpower and medical resources? We he deluding himself?

He didn't think so. Intellectually, he was thoroughly convinced that full recovery, or even a high percentage of recovery, was impossible as far as Fullmetal was concerned. His ego didn't seem to have a problem with that.

So what was this nagging ray of hope that kept cropping up every time there was some small improvement, some encouraging sign? Where was this false optimism getting its energy from, so much so that it refused to die?

It took some introspection to arrive at an answer, but it was worth the effort. It was his gut that told him the cause was not lost; and it was a voice in his heart, so illogical and unruly, that refuse to accept defeat. He finally hit on it by virtue of the pain that lanced him whenever the inevitable setback arose. These were expected events, foreseen, and appropriately dealt with; yet they still caused him such personal grief when he witnessed them, or upon hearing the sorry accounts after the fact. He hadn't shared that feeling - it was private and rather unprofessional, after all - and because of it, Gansworth was misinterpreting his attitude.

Was it important? Was the doctor's take on his behavior germane to anything of substance? He wasn't a mental patient, so he had no obligation to share his innermost thoughts unless there was a potential of harm to the safety and soundness of his mission and crew.

As far as he could tell, it just made the doctor like him less, and being liked wasn't his goal. Why waste valuable time being dissuaded of hoping for the best as long as he was diligently planning for the worst? That flicker of hope was his right, painful or not.

The troubling question was now settled in his own mind. And if the purpose of discussing it was just to convince Gansworth that he was a 'good guy' and not a self-centered megalomaniac - he simply had no interest in making that effort.

If he'd learned nothing else from his career and his unwanted glory as the Hero of Ishval, it was that this sort of pain had value. If you didn't care deeply about those you were sworn to defend, there were other, darker agendas waiting to fill the void. The pain spared would return a thousand fold if you tried to suppress your ties humanity. Because your humanity will always resurface and call you to account for all that you've done to, or failed to do for, those you crossed paths with.

He sat and pulled out the desk drawer in order to touch the smooth curve of copper.

_I sought you out and brought you here, Fullmetal. I doubt that you would have enlisted otherwise. I pushed you to be aggressive and fearless, and I never gave you a shoulder to lean on, much less cry on, even at your toughest times. I forced you to think hard and work harder, and when you almost reached the impossible standards I'd set for you, I'd raise the bar even higher to force you to keep leveling up. I thought I was clever; you were becoming pretty formidable, and I was certain that when the time came for you to get your bodies back, you'd be as prepared as you could be to do whatever impossible task was necessary to make it happen. You were my responsibility even though you acted on your own that day; hell, you probably chose to act out because of my style of supervision. I understand that I am fully responsible for what happened. I'm not going to hide from the consequences, and I certainly can't erase the regrets. But I'm still going to go forward and keep making decisions for you based on my instincts; guilt is not about to make me take bad advice or relinquish control to a doctor or anybody else that might try to interfere. _

With the slow slide and soft bump of the closing drawer, he sighed and firmly relegated the topic to the back of his mind so that it would not interfere with the tasks of the day.

His gaze lifted, and he couldn't help wearing a rare, wry smile. Funny, here he was ready to go to work bright and early, and for once the inbox was empty.

He took advantage of the solitude to ignite toothpicks in midair, one by one, as leaned back in his chair and tossed them in a high arc into a glass on his desk. There would be complaints about the smell from this alchemy practice if anyone else was about. Hawkeye would either scold him for putting off the paperwork or shoo him outside as a fire hazard.

He ran the drill over and over until his accuracy was honed to perfection. This was no time to be letting administrative burdens distract him to the point of reducing his battle worthiness.

The file folder he used to fan the air contained the schedules for the coming week. Once the slight haze was fairly well dissipated, he was able to start examining the contents without the risk of a scolding should the Lieutenant arrive early.

xxxxxxxx

It was mid-morning when Hawkeye received the call that disrupted the lull of routine business and threw her into high alert.

She flew into the Colonel's office looking over her shoulder. The hallway was still empty, but soon…

"Colonel! We've got company! Major Kimblee was just cleared through the front gates."

"Alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he on orders?"

"Unknown, sir."

"They didn't tell you anything?"

"It's all the guard post had. He had the Fuhrer's signed approval on a travel permit, so he doesn't have to show orders."

"He does, does he? Well, that's interesting. Get word to Havoc and Armstrong. We should…"

"Knock knock," Kimblee smirked, miming a rap on the door and throwing in a lax salute. "Surprise. Happy to see me?"

Mustang saluted sharply in return, pasting on the same formal face of welcome that Hawkeye did. He only hoped that she could accurately surmise the order he was about to give, and make sure that the caretakers were warned and the boys well-sedated in case this visit was about them.

"Surprise, indeed. Come in, have a seat. Lieutenant, you're dismissed."

"No, no, Colonel, don't break up the party on my account. In fact, let's all take a walk together. I'm here to see how our little friends are doing these days. We haven't heard any news of them in Central in some time. That must mean they're doing remarkably well, hm? No news is good news?"

"You're referring to the Elrics?"

"Who else? The Fuhrer's been curious and I was at loose ends, so I volunteered to drop by. He's fascinated by those boys, for some reason. I am, as well, but I must admit, in my case it's just morbid curiosity." A salacious grin spread across his face, the one that reminded Mustang of a reptile. "I never really got any quality time with our littlest Alchemist the last time I was here."

The Colonel fiddled with his pen and made a to-do of having to clear off his desk and re-arrange things before rising.

"You've really caught me at a busy time, Major. We can see them for a bit, but…"

"No need to supervise my visit this time if you're that busy, Colonel. Just have the Lieutenant here drop me off at their room so we can chat."

"No offense, Major, but supervision is absolutely required. We've put too much effort into their recovery. This is a sensitive phase they're in. You'll need to heed my guidance as to what you can and can't discuss with them."

"Oh, pshaw. So over-protective. What, are you afraid that I might decide to eat them?" Kimblee grinned with a knowing look.

Mustang barely concealed his shock. It might be coincidence, but his gut instincts whispered that Kimblee might know something about the strange, partially-devoured remains Gansworth had puzzled over. And he was self-assured enough to throw out barbs about it so casually?

"No. I know that you will not do anything to harm them," Mustang said, giving weight to each word to send his own message.

"Well, there you go. No problem. Let's go, then."

Mustang's brain jittered between his choices…was it better to hit Al and Winry cold, or Edward?

"This way." He caught Riza's eye and slipped her the note he'd dashed off while clearing his desk. "We'll check in on Edward first."

"First? They're still not together? Why not?"

"Right now Edward needs utter peace and quiet. Al has agreed to give him space for a while. Lieutenant, do you have copies of their medical charts? You'll want to see his progress, I assume."

"Yeah, I do want to see it. The Fuhrer's not going to very happy to hear that you're keeping them apart. He has this vision of happily reunited little survivors, recovering safe and sound under the blanket of our noble, protective hospitality." He snickered, wiggling his fingers to highlight his personal disdain for that line of thought.

"I'll have to get the records from Dr. Gansworth. Be right back." Hawkeye seized on the opportunity to break free and was gone.

"Don't those hands of yours get to itching from just pushing paper around all day?" Kimblee chuckled with a sideways look. Mustang was stone-faced as they walked down the long hallway. Breaking that composure was an irresistible challenge. "Don't you ache to be blasting away with your amazing talents instead of sitting here moldering away like a good dog?"

Mustang knew well that this was inappropriate talk from someone of lower rank. Kimblee seemed to bask in the immunity of the Fuhrer's favor.

"I'm satisfied with following orders and providing my talents when they're called for," he said levelly.

"Always the politician. For someone with such a flamboyant technique, you certainly are boring."

"And you seem to have forgotten your rank, Major," Mustang bristled.

Kimblee grinned, having successfully won the game of getting the Colonel annoyed before even making it to either of the Elrics' quarters.

Armstrong blocked the doorway. "Identification please."

"You know who we are, you overblown circus freak."

"Be that as it may, there are no exceptions. I'll need to see your ID."

Mustang flashed his, hoping that Armstrong would catch on and skip the spoken passcode. Kimblee wouldn't have one, and he didn't need to hear Mustang's and potentially crack the pattern for it.

Armstrong was way ahead of him, and not a bit amused.

"I don't need to fish that thing back out. I showed it at the gates."

"If you want to enter this room, you must provide your identification. No exceptions."

"Mustang, come on…"

"That's Colonel Mustang to you, Major Kimblee. And, no, I will not order Major Armstrong to make an exception for you."

It was Kimblee's turn to grumble and be annoyed. He flashed his ID and then had to relinquish it for closer examination. Finally, Armstrong returned it and stepped aside warily.

Ed's first glimpse of the two men caused him to drop the small exercise weight he was raising to his shoulder. It landed on his automail foot with a muted, musical clank and rolled toward the approaching visitors.

His hands came up in fear.

"Hey, little guy, miss me?" Kimblee called out. "Just your old pals and comrades here. You're cool with that, right?"

Ed gaped wordlessly.

"You know, this is really something. Four magnificent alchemists all together in one tiny room. We should do something fun. Maybe we can get Alphonse in on it. Then we'd have five. I'd count him, wouldn't you? Your little brother's like an honorary State Alchemist anyway, isn't he?"

Mustang's growl let him know that he was spot-on in going straight to the subject of Alphonse; otherwise, he might not have been allowed to go there at all.

But if he was expecting to get Ed to slip and tell him something useful, he couldn't have been farther from the mark. The only thing being uttered was the first syllable of Kimblee's name, stammered over and over just shy of panic.

"It's all right, Edward," Armstrong said as he placed himself between Kimblee and the trembling young man.

"Don't want your little bro to come out and play?"

"Drop it," Mustang warned.

Kimblee shrugged and nodded. The Elric kid didn't look like he was going to respond; but maybe if he got him talking about something else, he could come back around to the subject of Alphonse and get some good reactions later.

"I understand that there was one hell of an invoice for some replacement automail. You got some new body parts, kid? Let's see 'em."

Kimblee popped his head around the Major and started to follow up with another question; but as shaken as Ed was from his arrival, that sudden move was too much.

The unfamiliar automail moved much more abruptly than he intended; all he wanted to do was retreat far enough to take that thin, threatening grin out of sight. But he threw himself off-balance and would have gone straight over backwards if not for Armstrong's lightning reflexes.

The Colonel wasn't much further behind.

"Damn it, Kimblee, don't rush up on him!" Mustang barked, up close and personal.

"Rush?" came the cool, amused reply. "All I did was move over to get a better look at him. Hey, kid, I'm sorry. You don't want to see me, fine. I think I'd have better luck talking to Alphonse anyway."

"B-better luck?" Ed managed enough balance to push away from the Major and get a clear view of Kimblee again. His personal fear took a back seat to the urgency of protecting Al. "Leave my brother alone!"

"Whoa, everybody, stop right there!" Mustang reached out and caught Ed's arm, blocking Kimblee once more.

"My, my, what hair triggers we all have today."

"Leave him alone! Who do you think you are?" Ed tried to bulldoze through the Colonel and made no progress whatsoever. "Get out of my way!"

"Fullmetal," Mustang said evenly. "There's no need to scream and get upset. He's not going to do anything to Alphonse. I'll make sure of that."

"Yeah," Kimblee drawled. "What do you think you're gonna do about it anyway, kid? Now, all of a sudden, you want to murder me?"

Mustang bit his tongue instead of rising to that stupidly inflammatory remark. "Of course not."

"If I have to! If you try to pull some shit on Al! You touch him, and I'll take you out for sure!"

"Really got your voice back, didn't you, punk? That's great. This beats all the drooling you did last time I was here. That was pretty boring."

The Flame Colonel had his hands full keeping Ed contained. "That may be how you feel, Fullmetal, but it's not what you're going to do."

"You…" Ed's eyes widened suddenly and Armstrong reacted similarly; Mustang grimaced, steeling for an impact from behind or whatever might be coming his way.

It was only Kimblee reaching over, his hand coming to rest on top of the Colonel's as it wrestled to keep Ed from breaking free, leaning up against the taller superior's back with a blatantly careless and chummy air.

"I could help you get control of him if you like," he cooed.

Ed suddenly found himself bare inches from that smirking face, sizing up his options to try and get free of Mustang to pop that vile mouth - until he caught the faint trace of a scent that matched the one imprinted in the core of his very soul. That homunculus stench. Just detectable, not nearly enough to be what he was composed of, but for a split-second, he could swear it was there.

He meant to yell 'look out!'. He meant to scream out that Kimblee didn't smell right - certain that the Colonel would know what that meant. Maybe he'd been fighting the homunculi and touched one of them, but he didn't look like he'd just come from a fight.

He looked like he wanted to start one for laughs.

That mocking, cold, self-important attitude - it was just like them. He was so like them. The Colonel shouldn't trust him near Al. If he did anything to Al…

The rush of panic hit him high and low, scrambling his thoughts long enough for the spiking the pressure in his skull cut him off from acting on any of his impulses. The world went brighter and brighter until it blazed into sightless white; the roar of it deafened him completely, and in the vacuum there was nothing to breathe. It stretched on and on until it brought his struggle to warn the Colonel to a crashing halt. In real time it happened in a flash; the other men nearly dropped him as he crumpled without warning.

"Damn. Still pretty messed up. Well, it's like I thought. I'd have been better off seeing his kid brother first anyway. Guess I was right."

Mustang cut him off with an accusing finger hovering less than an inch from his smug face.

"You waltz in here, ignore my directions and totally disrupt the stable environment we've established without any regard for the situation. Why? What is your purpose? Explain yourself, Major!"

"Colonel," Kimblee shook his head innocently, "don't be so melodramatic. Wasn't Ed's performance enough to suit you? Such a nice swan dive. He might have a career waiting for him in cinema."

"Answer me, damn it."

"I can't tell you why I'm here to 'disrupt' them because I'm not. I'm just here to see how they're doing. There. That's your answer."

"I'm going to have to insist that you to leave them alone."

"Well, now, Colonel, you seem to be overstepping your bounds. I'm here on higher authority. That makes your orders subordinate to mine; and it makes you subordinate to my orders from above. Which means _you_ are going to take _me _to see Alphonse Elric."

"You're here on the Fuhrer's travel authorization and right of entry; that doesn't give you the power to give commands on his behalf. Show me your delegation of authority, Major. Show me when these so-called orders were inked."

"A stickler, as always."

"And you're bluffing."

"Eh. You're not as much fun as you used to be, but at least you haven't gone completely soft in the head. So here's a word to the wise. Take me to his brother or I'll advise the Fuhrer that it's time to terminate your little informal hostelry and move them to a better location. We can find them a nice place right in Central, quite a bit higher up on the food chain. And don't give me that 'you wouldn't' look, because you know damned well that I will. Is that enough 'authority' for you?"

xxxxxxx

"I was wondering where you went. Look, all right, I'm caving in, I just picked up Solaris' last message and I'm going to give her a call. Hey, whoa, what's going on? Where's the fire?"

She was moving fast, wearing that serious expression he knew all too well, holding her tongue until she was close enough to be understood without being overheard.

"Havoc! I've been trying to find you!" Hawkeye hissed. "Kimblee's here. He's in with Ed and he'll be going to see Al next. You need to get to Al's room and put a lid on things right now!"

"Shit." Havoc dropped the notepad and turned on his heel. "Can you come, too?"

"Yeah." They double-timed it down the corridor. "Actually, I just came from there."

"So you talked to Enfield? Who else knows?"

"The Colonel took Kimblee to Ed's room. Armstrong was there on watch. Otherwise it's just the three of us and the front gate. Enfield was going to try to get Al to take a dose of his sleeping meds. Couldn't reach Fuery but I left a message for him to get the word around."

"He's going to see what we're doing with the new room. I guess that shouldn't matter, but damn it, I think that the less he knows the better."

"What if we take Al back to his old room until Kimblee leaves?"

"Yes! That's exactly what I was just thinking. Might take all three of us to get him there if those pills have started to work."

"Let's do it. We've got to hurry. When we're done I'll head back to Ed's room and let the Colonel know somehow."

Al went under his own power; Winry was biting her lip watching them go, in a way that reminded Riza of Ed's habit, although she wasn't hurting herself the way he would. The transfer process was hurried and clearly upsetting to the kids but it was the wisest move under the circumstances; Al seemed far more upset at the prospect of Kimblee bothering Ed or Winry than himself.

"It'll be okay," Al called back as they hustled out the door.

"It shouldn't be long," Hawkeye assured them as she sent Winry into the observation room on the other side of the mirror. "Stay here until we come to get you, just in case we can't divert them."

"Stay out of sight! Be careful! Wait for me!" Al resisted slightly to get one last look at her before the door closed.

"We have to move. Come on, she'll be fine." Havoc took Al's upper arm and got full cooperation once the door latched shut with a sharp snap.

Hawkeye dashed to rejoin the Colonel, sprinting to make sure she would arrive in time to divert them. It would all be for nothing if they were already making their way to the new room.

The relief at finding them still in Ed's room was short-lived. The snippet of conversation she caught from the hallway didn't sound too promising.

"Take me to his brother or I'll advise the Fuhrer that it's time to terminate your little informal hostelry and move them to a better location. We can find them a nice place right in Central, quite a bit higher up on the food chain. And don't give me that 'you wouldn't' look, because you know damned well that I will. Is that enough 'authority' for you?"

She stepped in, struck immediately by the fact that Armstrong wasn't right there to check ID.

"Colonel," Hawkeye said, voice starting out bold and then trailing off. "I brought…Al's…chart…"

Ed was down, she could see his feet on the bed, but the rest of him was hidden by Armstrong's clearly defensive position in front of him. It looked like their visitor was close to coming to blows with the Colonel. She was surprised at the vibration of Mustang's clenched fist; it wasn't like him to lose his cool so quickly. He was well aware of the Crimson Alchemist's provoking nature and usually weathered it better than most.

She handed him the clipboard by smacking it into his hand hard, drawing his attention to the page and subtly trying to remind him to straighten up.

"He's in his quarters," she said tersely. He should be alert enough to see that she'd detailed the old cell block as his location in the margin next to today's date. _Should_.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, sparing her little attention.

"What's it going to be, Colonel, _sir_?" Kimblee snipped.

Hawkeye had a bad moment when Mustang abruptly left the room, Kimblee in smug pursuit. He'd scarcely looked at the clipboard at all. She hurried to catch up, not sure how to get in the lead without being too obvious. If they went the wrong way…

But Mustang's irritable strides lead them all straight to Al's old quarters without fanfare.

The room lighting was dimmed. There was no one on guard. Al rustled under the thin blanket and rose up on an elbow at their approach.

"There he is. Make it fast. Then I want you out of here. Alphonse, sorry for the interruption. The Major here wanted a word with you."

"Ally pally," Kimblee chucked. "What are you doing in bed at this hour?"

Logy from the first blush of the medication already, Al grumped back. "I haven't been feeling good."

"Oh? Is that why you're not sharing a room with Edward?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Interesting," Kimblee said, casting a sideways look at Mustang. "Guess that story works too, huh?"

Mustang stared impassively and offered no explanation.

"All right. Never mind. So you've been under the weather. Had any luck with your alchemy?"

"I don't do that here."

"But you could if you wanted to. Right?"

"I'm not supposed to."

"Well, all right, but you could if you wanted to and you were 'supposed' to. Right?"

"What? I don't know. Why don't you just leave us alone?" Al rubbed a drooping eye and frowned deeply.

"Let's see. Why don't I leave you alone. Why do you think you have a place to stay? Why do you think your brother gets all the care he needs? Who do you think allows all of this to happen?"

"The Colonel does."

"Let me educate you, punk. The Colonel here has to follow orders just like everybody else. And his orders come from Central. I come from Central and I'm here checking up on you to make sure all this is going the way Central wants it to. Do you get it? For that matter," Kimblee turned to glare at Mustang, his patience growing thin. "Do you?"

"I understand my position perfectly. I think that you may be the one confused about their span of authority. You may be doing fact-finding for Central, but I don't equate that giving you the full weight and authority of Central Command."

"Can the double-talk. Just tell the kid I have a right to ask him anything the hell I want, and I want answers."

"Alphonse, please answer the man's questions. You'll notice that I asked - I didn't order him to do so, Major. Another thing about my authority, and yours. It doesn't stretch to commanding private citizens to do anything. Unless you're thinking that we've declared martial law?"

"I haven't tried to do any alchemy. I'm not supposed to. So I don't know. Now go away. I'm tired and my head hurts. Just go away. Okay?" Al broke in, turning on his side and closing his eyes. "I need to go back to sleep."

"So is he sick or is he just giving Ed some space?" Kimblee challenged.

"Both," Mustang's cool reply came as he started back out into the hall. "We're done here Major. Unless you want us all to stand here and watch him sleep."

Kimblee growled and turned on his heel. "I hope for your sake my report doesn't annoy Fuhrer Bradley. What's your excuse for restricting this private citizen from perform alchemy? Where's the respect for his precious personal freedom in all that?"

Mustang barely suppressed a smile; the question was asked with the haughty, indignant flourish of accusation.

Kimblee might be a fast talker, but no one was as good at thinking on their feet as the Colonel.

"It's a limitation he agreed to when he decided to stay here with Edward. After his medical release, he's been free to leave at any time if he didn't want to abide by the rules. It's for his own safety, and he recognizes that. It's his choice to remain here, and he's satisfied with that decision."

"You must be kidding me. I would have thought he had more balls than that. He's a hell of a lot better at following orders than you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I follow my orders to the letter. Let me qualify that. I follow my legitimate orders to the letter."

"I wanted to keep this informal. Now you're making me think that I should write up a report."

"The hallway isn't the place for this conversation. Let's go to my office. I'll give you the pen and paper. You can write all of this down while it's fresh. So far I can't think of a single, solitary detail that would reflect badly on my professionalism. Your actions, on the other hand…"

"Go to your own damned office. All this way for nothing. I'm outta here."

"You're sure that there's nothing else we can do for you?" Mustang asked, now facing the dark ponytail after Kimblee's abrupt about-face to commence storming out. "Well, if you say so. Good day, Major. Lieutenant, please see him out."

Kimblee's annoyance, largely just for show, evaporated as he set out down the corridor. He ignored his escort and maintained silence and a sour deadpan until he cleared the building and reclaimed his auto.

He'd given it a shot. The homunculi would still be obligated to let him keep his stone regardless of the outcome. There was no evidence to indicate whether Al could or could not perform alchemy, and his keepers were tight-lipped and extremely protective. Well, it was no skin off of his nose if this mission produced little benefit to anyone but himself.

But, my, if only there was some way to see all the damage to Fullmetal's body. The exposed areas were just a teaser. It was exciting to imagine the rest, breathing life into the cold, clinical descriptions in the medical history.

He shrugged off that hint of disappointment and drove at a leisurely pace to deliver his inconclusive report.

When Hawkeye and Kimblee were safely out of view, Mustang called out softly.

"He's gone. I know you're here somewhere."

Havoc materialized from a doorway further down the hall. "That didn't seem to go too badly."

Mustang nodded. "We kept him in the dark a bit . He doesn't know where they'll be moved to. He doesn't know we keep a guard on Al."

"So why is he so interested in Al's ability to perform alchemy?"

"I doubt that he is. Whatever he's really here to find out, it's not very likely that he'd be asking up front. He seemed pretty dissatisfied; so he may have had suspicions that weren't borne out by what he saw here. He did seem nosy about the new automail but nothing specific. Nothing worthy of the trip here to ask. Maybe just to see it in person. Or maybe he wants to trip me up so they have an excuse to transfer Ed to Central. I don't know. Enfield's at Hawkeye's desk?"

Havoc nodded.

"I'll send him down with the 'all clear' once Kimblee exits the front gates. Maintain alert status until then."

Mustang lumbered off to further contemplate the true motive for Kimblee's visit.

xxxxxxxx

"Stop, Edward. It's all right. You need to calm down."

"I want to know! Did he see him? Did that slimy son of a bitch see him? Did he touch him? Did he?"

"He may have seen him, Edward, but you don't need to worry. The Colonel would not have left them alone. He…"

"Fuck that! No, no, no! I don't care! You have to stop them!"

Armstrong let Ed have some latitude. As fiercely as he was yanking at the burly forearm, it really didn't present much of a challenge. But Ed was putting all his effort into it, and he wasn't being very careful, so the potential of harm for one or both of them was growing by the minute.

One giant hand came to rest on Ed's shoulder. "Try to control yourself, Edward. You know this is not the way you should be behaving. I can't give orders to the Colonel, you know that, too"

"What about Mustang, what about _his_ behavior? How could he take someone that acts like that to see my brother? What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Nothing bad is going to happen."

"I don't - shit! Why don't you listen to me? It is bad! Taking that asshole anywhere near my brother is bad! I don't even get to know where he is, I can't do anything about it like this. You have to do something!"

"I know it's hard for you to understand why this is happening the way it is. You just have to rely on the Colonel's judgment."

"He can't see him when I haven't seen him! A jerk like that can't see Al before I do! You can't let him! You suck! You all suck!"

"Ed…"

Armstrong had to hang on tight; Ed reached meltdown, fighting and yelling without restraint, raging from the unfairness of it all.

"I want to see him! Now, I want to go now, come on, move your ass!"

"I can't let you go anywhere in this state, Edward. Calm down, please." Turned slightly sideways, the frantic impact from Ed's automail knee smacked harmlessly on the Major's iron-tough thigh. The arm was another thing; to protect himself, he had to capture it by the wrist, causing Ed to struggle away. He tucked the small body up close with his other arm and waited for the storm of emotion to die down. Ed was screaming in his ear at first, but started on a coughing fit. That took a great deal of the force out of his fight; it saddened Armstrong to have to handle the situation this way.

Once again he was struck by how vulnerable this left them; Lieutenant Hawkeye was able to enter the room freely and had she been less efficient, she probably would have skipped showing him the ID and barking her passcode as she approached.

"I sent for the doctor; he's not here yet?" She took a position directly behind Ed and gently pushed up against him to help limit his range of motion, cautious of the automail leg. "He should be here any minute, then."

"Good thinking, thank you, Lieutenant," Armstrong said, his words uneven from the effort, both physical and emotional, of keeping Ed in check.

"You let him see Al! Both of you! All of you!" Ed managed, still not through coughing.

Hawkeye braced and dodged, avoiding collision when his head whipped back.

"There wasn't a problem, Ed, calm down. Al's fine. Kimblee's already gone," she said.

"Did he see Al? What did he say to my brother? What did he say to him? Why the hell did you let him do that? Why?"

"He didn't say anything to upset Alphonse."

Ed was panting hard, already out of stamina, but still edgy with the dregs of the adrenaline of his outrage. "No!"

"It's true, Ed listen! Listen to me! Al was going to sleep and the Colonel wouldn't let Kimblee wake him up."

"You're sure? He was sleeping? They shouldn't let people look at him when he's sleeping. They shouldn't let anyone near him when he's sleeping. He didn't need to be talking to that shithead anyway. He needs me! Me!"

"You're all worked up about something that didn't happen. He didn't bother Al. The only person he managed to upset is you. Don't let him get to you, Ed. We took care of everything," Hawkeye said, but her attempt to settle him down only made him refocus on her as the target for his anger and fear.

"No, Edward!" boomed the Major, regrettably bringing forth the full force of his most threatening tone of voice to stop Ed's attempt to throw a kick at the lieutenant. "That will be all. No more!"

It was not the last resort - that was the hypodermic - but it was close. Ed reacted instantly when he perceived danger; the sudden aggressiveness was enough to jolt him to a stop.

Ed gasped, wide-eyed, flinching back as the Major's mouth opened again.

His voice was very quiet. "I can't allow you hurt anyone on purpose, not even me."

"That's right," Gansworth said, even softer, startling the officers from just inside the doorway. "You don't want to hurt anyone and we're here to help you make sure of that. We'll never do that by hurting you instead, though. There's nothing to fear right now, everyone is here to support you."

The Major looked monstrous and fierce. Ed was pulling back; his aggressive behavior had vanished, reduced to shrinking away from all of them, straining stiffly for retreat but for the grip on his arms. Hawkeye was still ready to catch him from behind him,

"Let him go, please. Both of you, step away and give him some room."

"Your…" Armstrong began.

"Here. Take it. Alpha tango niner zebra." Gansworth waved his ID at the Major impatiently. "Now stand back as I asked."

Armstrong eased his hold with great care to keep Ed from losing balance. When he released him successfully, Hawkeye moved away, too.

The Major wanted to explain, because it seemed that the doctor was displeased with the way he had handled the situation. Ed hadn't merely been angry; he'd had that look in his eyes, where rage was displacing his personality. If it escalated his face would become involved to point where he was barely recognizable, and once he reached that point, he was capable of extreme violence and little else. It had to be stopped for everyone's safety. But Gansworth wasn't looking for explanations, just shooing him away to prevent interference.

The lanky physician moved up to take the foreground of Ed's attention.

"You seem to be very upset. Things are safe, nothing is going to happen, everything is going to be quiet and calm now. Get control of your breathing, slow down. Look at me. Let's listen to one another. This is a perfect time to tell me what you're thinking. That's the starting point for understanding what you're feeling and finding the path to self-control again."

Ed didn't finish retreating until he hit a physical barrier - namely the wall - and could go no further. Gansworth waited to see if he would panic; with three people in the room blocking the only exit, hitting that limit could very well set him off.

Ed was tired of the people in his face making him feel helpless and angry by doing things they shouldn't, and refusing to listen, ignoring the things that were important. The Major had been so frightening, and it came out of nowhere, an enormous blow considering that this was one of the few people he thought was completely trustworthy. Everyone needed to go away, to leave him alone, to stop hurting his brain - but that wasn't an option when it would leave this thing with Al unresolved.

"I won't push you. Take your time. I bet you'd feel better if you sat down. Catch your breath. Sit wherever you're comfortable. The bed is a good spot, hm? Plenty of space; it's just going to be the two of us for a while. The others were just leaving. Is that all right with you? If it's not, just say so."

Armstrong's jaw tightened; Ed said nothing, and Gansworth took his ID back with a nod. "Thank you Major. Lieutenant. That will be all for now. Please check back in later. If I need you within the next hour or so I'll ring out."

The Major didn't turn his back on the room as he left. Ed was still against the wall and as far as he was concerned, this silence didn't indicate anything. He might very well be uncomfortable and want them all to stay.

But he had no real say in the matter at this point, so there was no other course of action but to leave and stand watch elsewhere, on call for any sign of trouble.

The hall darkened as Gansworth moved the folding screen across the doorway to shut out any new disturbances.

"You don't have to follow my advice, but I hope that you've learned that things work out a little better when you do. I have your best interest at heart, Edward." And an increased dose of the new medication in his pocket. This would put Ed on the maximum strength. Results had been disappointing so far but this one last step had to be taken before conceding that this, too, was not the right drug.

The only measurable changes he'd exhibited so far were an increase in the number of hallucinations reported by his caretakers and a marked decrease in his self-control.

Ed's shoulders slumped, the automail implant aching almost as much as it used to. Recovered from the jolt Armstrong had delivered to make him behave, the situation with Al came flooding back into the foreground. It mocked him in his powerlessness. He had been strong with anger, but once it passed, all that remained was worry and unanswered questions.

Gansworth worked his way a little closer. "You look tired. It seems that there is some sort of problem between you and the Major. That must be very taxing. I'd really like to see you sit down and let me help you sort out what's been going on here."

Ed rubbed his face all over with rough hands, trying to pull himself together. He was so tired. Sitting sounded good, and he suddenly remembered that he needed to keep the doctor happy so he wouldn't interfere with his plans.

Gansworth reached out tentatively, making the barest of contact with Ed's arm. If touching had been the trigger before, he was satisfied that his patient wasn't volatile anymore.

"Come on, now. Let's sit you down."

It pleased him to see Ed shuffle over far enough to sit down, seemingly without concern about their close proximity.

"Al."

"Al is fine. Sleeping quietly. He was tired and happened to start a nap just as his visitor arrived."

"Guess I got carried away."

"Understandable."

_Glad _you_ do_, Ed thought dimly. _I don't get it myself. I think I was trying to hurt them. I lost control again._

"Take this. Drink all the water."

The glass and pill offered were probably mandatory. His behavior was inexcusably bad; so that was why they'd called in the Doc. This would be a knock-out drop of some kind.

"But…I'm not going to cause any more trouble."

"This isn't a punishment, Edward. It's something that may help you."

"I don't want it."

Gansworth nodded but Ed recognized that look of resolve. "Even though you have reservations, I'm going to have to insist. This was part of our bargain, and you haven't been meeting all of your conditions as it is. We'll discuss that later if the situation doesn't improve. Do you understand?"

Automail fingers rubbed the stretch of sensitive inner arm at the remembered threat of another IV. Gansworth held a lot of power over everyday existence. A measure of cooperation was necessary to maintain enough latitude to develop his next move. An IV would botch things up for sure.

He reached out to take the cup, noticing that the doctor straightened and his breathing got tight when he did so. This episode would make everyone more wary and watchful around him for a while at least. Control was such a vital ability to master.

He regret that he'd never been entirely proficient at it.

Gansworth took the empty cup back and set it aside, moving the chair even closer. He appeared to be settling in. So this wasn't just a quick stop to knock him out. Maybe it wasn't the sleeping stuff again. Doc was a busy man and if anyone was going to sit and watch him fall asleep, it would be just about anyone but this guy.

"What I saw and heard earlier was very troubling to me. Does the Major approach you in that manner often?"

"No," he said quickly. "No, he had to do that. I mean, he really didn't do much of anything. He probably should have kicked my ass."

"Oh? Why do you say that."

_How much did he see and hear,_ Ed wondered. It wouldn't be smart to add a lot of potential doubt in anyone's mind.

"You saw. I…I get kind of... too much static when things are so crazy like that. I'm not sure. I just needed to stop them from letting that creep see Al. I thought…I thought I smelled something. What if I really did? But they wouldn't do anything. All they cared about was what I did."

"About what you did?"

"Like, when I'm talking, what I said didn't matter, they just looked at how I was saying it and how I was acting. I was asking them to move, damn it! They should have been doing something! I wasn't having some crazy fit, they should have listened and paid attention and understood what I was telling them! It was important! It was the truth!"

"Ed," Gansworth said, experimentally resting a hand on Ed's knee, testing his emotional reaction. "You're getting a little loud again. Now, that's fine, but it means that it's time to back off a bit and try to go over this rationally."

"I am rational! It's frustrating, wouldn't you be frustrated? And upset? And scared?"

"Scared of what, Ed?"

"Of what might happen to Al, isn't that obvious?"

"Do you think that all of these emotions are because you fear for Alphonse's well-being?"

"Yeah! Of course!"

"And because of an odor? Can you help me understand that?"

"I'm not sure about that, that's not it, that's just confusing. It doesn't make sense."

"Can you elaborate for me a little bit?"

"It'd be worse. Things would have happened. You'd know. Everyone would know. You'd know what scary shit I'm talking about. So I must have been wrong about that, but what if I wasn't? And even without all that, that Kimblee guy, he has that…that…you can just see it in his eyes."

"Well. I'm not sure I'm quite following you. I agree that the majority of those emotions were probably just as you described, at the time. Fear. Agitation. Frustration. I hear them in your voice now; you're still quite passionate about this perceived threat to your brother's safety. But some of this seems to have an internal source, too. You have feelings about the way you were being treated, or should I say, mistreated. Intertwined with all those protective impulses for your brother, you ego is functioning to preserve and promote itself as well."

"My ego? This isn't some stupid game like that. I'm not sure everything turned out so peachy-keen even now. You guys could all be lying. I think you tell me lies when it suits you. Most everybody here does, and I know it. I didn't try to start some cockfight because they didn't give me enough attention! I'm not making things up!"

"Ed, no, that's not what I'm saying. When I use the word ego, I mean it in the strictest sense. As in, sense of self. Not egotism; that was in no way meant to be a criticism or insult." Paranoia wasn't usually in Ed's baseline repertoire, but this reaction was overly defensive and accusatory.

"You don't know what it's like to try to tell people that there's this life or death thing happening and have them all just stand around and look at you to see if you're frothing at the mouth!"

"That does sound very upsetting. I actually have had similar experiences. I suppose I can relate to the urge to fight when that happens. My recommendations influence lives profoundly; it is deeply frustrating when something I feel is vital to someone's recovery gets set aside for some other course of action. So I can relate. And I would say that the anger, helplessness and frustration you describe are normal and predictable reactions."

Ed sighed heavily and his head drooped. "But I bet you don't try to brawl over it."

"No. I might feel a tremendous urge to do so if a loved one's well-being was hanging in the balance. The feelings are mixed up and multiplied. Are you seeing the difference? You attribute the incident to your fear that Al isn't properly cared for. That is the basis, but it is more than that. The internal conflict you feel when your words are disregarded adds to the turmoil that leaves you vulnerable to acting out irrationally. The urge to fight came when the urgency of Alphonse's situation drove you act at the same time that stress was impairing your ability to find a constructive course of action. I believe you when you say that you didn't want to hurt anyone. But when it was the only thing you could think of to do, you made quite an effort to do just that."

There was more to it than the doctor knew. These were weird things that happened in his head; like being afraid of the Major, really afraid for his life, momentary though it was - even though he knew better. Like smelling that homunculus smell out of nowhere, seeing dark colors in his peripheral vision that changed with the intensity of his anger, feeling hands that clawed at his back when no one was really there. Like losing all control and not even understanding that it was happening until well after the fact.

The doctor thought he was dealing with a normal human, but Ed knew that wasn't the case. All the other people shared that common thread that he had lost, if he'd ever really had it. That feeling was back again, pervasive and strong, that he was trapped in a dimension that was just intersecting with the one everyone else lived in. He could see everyone, talk to them, even touch them, but there was no way for his soul to cross back - he just didn't belong here. It took tremendous effort to keep from floating away. It was part of the reason that it felt so right to trade his life for Al's with the attempted transmutation. As obvious as it was, everyone else was blind to it so far.

Isolation was the last thing he wanted. The loss of human contact was going to be unbearable if the schism worsened before he was ready to leave. There had to be something, some temporary solution to settle things back down for now. There had to be solid ground to stand on while he worked to find mastery of his own mind and body once more. Without that mastery, there would be no way to go up against the homunculi.

The answer formed in his head in a jolt. So obvious. Someone with the power to command and control just needed to do their damned job: enforce the rules and maintain order.

"Then don't let me get away with it. Give me the punishment."

The statement took a moment for the doctor to process, and more moments were needed to formulate a careful response.

"The punishment. You say it as if that's something I should know about. Can you explain it to me, please? What is it you're expecting?"

"It has to be something severe, something harsh."

"Harsh. I still don't follow you."

"Not just words. More than a lecture. There should be some pain, and yelling at least."

"There isn't going to be anything like that, Edward. No pain. No reprimand. You're not in any trouble. Understand? There's nothing to punish you for."

"That's stupid!" Ed blurted. "You'd better be right! You better ask the Colonel first. Get him down here. He'll let me have it! He knows how it works, that's why he made me pay last time!"

"Hold on, hold on now. Help me out here. Made you pay when?"

"Get him to fucking do it again! He has to!"

"You want him to discipline you. With some sort of painful punishment."

"I told you. He has to! Want? What's wrong with you? Get him! Hurry, don't just sit there!"

"There's no point in sending for him if mistreatment is what you want from him. I know that he won't do what you're asking. If this is because you want to see him, that's fine. You don't have to reveal what all of your reasons are, if you want to keep that to yourself. But if your only goal is to receive punishment from him, it's not going to happen. Listen to me. I think you're having some trouble organizing your thoughts right now. Maybe this is not a good direction for our discussion at the moment."

"You're wrong. I know what I'm talking about. Don't confuse me! I know he will. He…will…he…"

Ed's gaze dropped sharply and his body jerked before freezing in place.

_A flashback_, Gansworth frowned, watching for the next movement, alert for any loss of balance or muscle control that would require swift intervention. It struck him that the onset was easier to recognize now; the brief episodes were starting to follow a pattern, similar to seizures. He wasn't at all surprised the it had come to this, given the day's turbulence on top of the pressure of the upcoming reunion.

"Ed." He snapped his fingers, testing. The patient failed to respond.

Locked behind that frozen expression, a forest loomed with damp foreboding, dwarfing him as he cowered on shaking knees in the dirt. It was the cold, bruising impact of the copper bowl as it hit him on the rebound that spurred his mind into pleading ever harder.

_Kick me, beat me, say anything, but please, please don't leave me out here alone!_

The cursing and derision was as fierce and rabid as the homunculus' spitting tirades. He fed on every word, every blow, as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.

_He's so cruel. It hurts so much. He's so frightening like this, I've never seen his eyes look so cold and disgusted. Please don't let him desert me! I'll die if he decides to abandon me here! I need him to lead me no matter what!_

The Colonel of his vision was as vivid and real as his unquestioning conviction that he was suddenly back out in the preserve, panicking with fear for his very life. With a sickening twist, the hallucination began to break up; Mustang's body lost form until the uniform fell empty at Ed's fingertips. He clutched at it, desperate for the familiar feel of the material, but it, too, disappeared, as the artificial light of the room began to reflect up from the hard flooring. The transition back to the present was almost harder to assimilate than the trip out.

"No, no," Ed pitched forward when the vision weakened and the images bled away. The unbearable became fact, that the Colonel had gone. He'd simply dissipated into thin air. "Make it stop! Bring it back!"

Gansworth was on the spot to steady him, just in time to block his attempt to hammer his own head with the automail.

"Major!" Gansworth bellowed, barely enough of a match to stay the self-abuse. "Ed, stop it! Stop!"

"This is how he has to save me! I remember, this is how."

"Let's talk about this! You know this isn't allowed. Stop!"

"I don't want to be left out here all alone. I can't stand it. Things are happening, I can't be like this. He has to help me!"

"Never. Never, Ed, you never have to be alone. Stop this and focus on my words. Feel my hands. Listen to my voice. You're not alone. I'm right here with you."

"I can't feel it. I can't feel it, it doesn't hurt, it has to hurt, it has to or it won't fix anything!"

"Try, Edward, try to calm down. Keep listening. Stay with me." Gansworth cursed inwardly. _Damn it, where's my back-up? _

He turned his head to spare Ed's ears and shouted. "Major! Anyone! Get the hell in here!"

It was lucky for him that his weary patient was not able to muster full strength for the struggle. It still wasn't easy to maintain a good hold; when the resistance didn't lessen he reluctantly muscled Ed up and across the room to pound the call button.

"I'm not ready! I can't do this all alone yet!"

"I know," panted Gansworth, glasses askew and no free hand to straighten them. "You're absolutely right. We won't leave you alone. I promise."

Ed hadn't been physically alone in a very long time; but it dawned on Gansworth that Ed's flashbacks were taking him places where none of them could follow. Often terrifying places, where he was helplessly alone against the powerful assault of memories.

And in his fear, his aberrant coping mechanisms were hard at work trying to find something solid to anchor him here. The strange and abusive incarnation of Mustang wasn't a surprising choice for a C-PTSD patient.

"Doctor. Edward." Armstrong's words were thick with concern as he burst into the room, his big strides bringing him to their side without delay.

"Major, please." Gansworth relinquished his patient to the powerful hands with no small measure of relief.

"M-m-m-m," Ed whined, twisting and throwing his weight back and forth. "M-Major. Major."

"Down and away, Major," Gansworth directed without hesitation, shaking his arm to loosen the muscles for the necessary fine motor skills, getting into place, ready to take action at the right moment.

Armstrong nodded without taking his focus from Ed. "No need to fight me, lad. Is there? "

"Let go. Let go."

"I will. Let's find a spot where you won't be likely to fall. Let's just move this way…"

Ed caught a flash of the needle in Gansworth's poised hand, instantly realizing that Armstrong was turning and holding him so firmly for a reason. "No! Don't do that ! Don't! I'm in control. I'm in control!"

His objections came simultaneously with the sting of the injection. The fluid burned in the large muscle of his shoulder; Gansworth's followed up with firmly placed thumb, massaging pressure over the site.

Kicking in renewed fury, Ed's metal leg hammered into the wall with sufficient force to damage both the drywall and the mechanical joint of his ankle.

Armstrong kept his hold but turned them so that the only thing Ed could impact was the bed and thin air, letting him flail until he slowed down on his own.

The unnerving vocalizations, growing unintelligible after the shot, dissolved into another coughing fit.

In time the injection began doing its job. Ed transitioned into helplessness in his usual manner, giving up the fight in trade for clinging for dear life.

"Will he be all the way out?" Armstrong asked softly, supporting the fair head as it dropped forward.

"Yes. Not for long, but I think we need a hard reset to get him back to baseline. There's not a lot of time left for me to finish this evaluation. And this would seem to indicate another miss."

"You mean, this was because of the medication?" Other than a couple of single, weak coughs, Ed's only sound was slightly labored breathing.

"Well…not one hundred percent, I'm sure, this was a highly disturbing day for him, but…watching his movements, they seemed to be just as erratic as his thinking, and they both increased concurrently with the step-up in dosage. If I still see that when he wakes back up…here, let's straighten him out. I want to give him a quick once-over to make sure that he didn't hurt himself."

Almost out of time, Gansworth frowned. This didn't pan out after all, and there was not enough time before the damnable reunion date to give something else a decent trial.

Barely better than nothing, the only thing left to him for that day other than this type of injection was the pink over-the-counter cold medication swilled by snuffly toddlers throughout the land every day. It was like trying to stop a runaway horse with a sewing thread or a sledge hammer with no options in between.

He probed a new bruise and deeming it minor, motioned for the Major to turn the limp body over to finish the exam.

"The automail has sustained some damage," Armstrong pointed out, hesitating.

Gansworth flexed the artificial pivot point. "More than just cosmetic. That doesn't sound good. Something's rubbing."

Now he wished he'd used a longer-lasting tranquilizer; there wasn't a great deal of time to try and get Ms. Rockbell in and out before Ed woke up.

And removing the limb for out-of sight service was far too stressful with all that was going on.

"Do we have anyone in your ranks that can handle delicate repairs like this?"

"Not for automail. Edward was unable to get that assistance while he was still in-service. The Colonel considered bringing someone with that expertise on board, but he never did get around to it."

"Then I need you to bring Ms. Rockbell over here right away."

xxxxxx

The minutes ticked off in what seemed like hours, yet somehow passing too fast, before the young lady came in with her satchel of specialized tools.

She looked unprepared and nervous, her blue eyes a little too liquid and wide. Still, there was no hesitation when she entered, going straight to the damaged limb.

"You have perhaps an hour at most. Please let me know right away if this is more serious than that. I'll have to re-evaluate him before he starts to wake back up if you need more time."

She pulled tools out of the bag with one hand, by touch. Her attention was riveted on the damage, and her resolution was to make the repair before looking at Ed's face.

Somehow, her heart told her that it would slow her down too much.

"How did he do this?"

"You see the wall there. It was a straight out hit - like this." He demonstrated with a move to illustrate the leg's angle at impact

"You'd better check his hip when I finish," she said, tight-lipped at visualizing Ed making that kick.

"I have, and there's nothing apparent, but I'll follow up tomorrow. You're correct, he's likely to be sore."

"Will he tell you if it hurts?"

"Probably. Don't be concerned, though. I can usually detect it if he's hurt and trying to hide it."

The two men were hovering a little too close, but she let it go. Time was too short to fuss with them.

"It's crimped under here, but it's not too bad. The mechanism is working. I just need straighten the shell and re-tension the return spring."

"Amazing," Armstrong said admiringly.

The clatter of the repair work made the ensuing lack of conversation seem appropriate. In no time it was all returned to good order. And then she allowed her gaze to travel up past the union of flesh and metal, intending to indulge in a good, long look at the person she missed and worried about so much.

Something else caught her eagle eye before she got to his face.

"What's going on here?"

Gansworth stepped up and received an accusing glare; she was pointing to the shoulder area. He shook his head, puzzled. She grimaced and popped open the cover, pointing. "Why is this so irritated? I thought you said this was much better."

"He may have strained it just now. It is healing. It's been improving every day; very slowly, though, probably due to the relapse of his nutritional issues."

"This is going to keep happening if he doesn't put some weight back on. You have to do something about it."

Gansworth was checking his watch, mentally rearranging the schedule for the balance of his day once more. This was taking far longer than he could adjust for by merely pushing things back. Although they tried to keep his activities here very close to the vest, this time he would have to call upon one of the other doctors to pick up his slack.

He shook his head and refocused to answer her concern.

"Yes. Of course. It's being addressed."

"Hmph." Winry glared but it was wasted as the doctor was concentrating on the clipboard, jotting on Ed's chart. "You need to do a whole lot better. At feeding him. And at preventing this kind of thing."

"Yes. Of course."

She finished tending to the area by closing the cowling and latched it, holding her breath. Time to stop ignoring her peripheral vision and bring Ed's face into focus, no doubt to find its way into her dreams and nightmares for many nights to come.

Ed looked more exhausted than peaceful. Too pale, making the discolored scar tissue dominant; still far too thin. The ridged eyelids allowed a glint of eyeball to show despite the depths of his slumber.

Yet still alive and undeniably kicking. The rhythm of his heart was steady, and his chest rose and fell evenly with each breath.

"Did he realize that he did this? Because if he did, you'll have to think of a way to explain the repair."

"I'm quite sure he didn't. He won't be looking for any explanations."

"He shouldn't notice any difference in the automail, then. It's fine now."

"We should get you packed up. He fights his way out from under rather quickly. I apologize for being so abrupt; but it's truly better for him this way. Here, let me help you."

She swept up the tools and homed them in the bag with a mix of irritation and relief at the interruption. She hadn't taken nearly the hour he had allowed for; her instincts told her that he was anxious for her to leave because he had other things to do.

It wouldn't do much good to argue, and having seen Ed, there was no benefit to standing around staring at him for any length of time while he was unconscious .

"On your way out, if you see Major Armstrong, can you send him back, please?"

"Sure," she said, subdued. She bent to kiss Ed's forehead and startled when the doctor caught her arm to stop her.

"What..?"

"Sorry, you mustn't do that. Your hands, you see, were washed and gloved…but I can easily detect your perfume. He might, as well, if you touch his face with yours."

She pressed her fist to her mouth, suppressing a thousand retorts, and with one last look, turned and walked away. As if she put perfume on her face; that was absurd. But still…

"Thank you again…" Gansworth said, voice trailing off as she snatched up her satchel and abruptly disappeared out the door

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Tomorrow. Geeze, I'm not going to make it," Al said, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He stopped when he met Winry's eyes. Was that fear? Did she think he meant that in some worst possible way? He'd been trying like heck to keep up a stabile front, and he thought he'd been able to hide most of his problems from her and Havoc. No way was he going to let them use his behavior as an excuse to put this off again.

"You should tell someone if you think this is too much, Al," she said fretfully. It seemed like the closer the meeting time came, the more Al shifted in and out of what Winry considered his normal self.

"Oh, no, no, I'm just, you know, uh…" he shrugged, shaking his head. "just nervous, that's all. I'll be fine."

"Sure you will, of course you will. Just don't forget we're here to help. If there's anything I can do, just tell me."

"Maybe…I've been thinking. Maybe I should cut my hair. Try to make it look like it did the last time he saw me, when I was little."

"Um. That's, uh, that's an interesting idea. But I don't think you really have to," Havoc inserted himself into their conversation, taking the slight glare from Al in stride.

"I was getting used to it being longer like this. I was kind of wondering what you'd look like if you wore it in a braid, the way Ed does." Winry forced a smile, far too sensitive to the situation to ignore the potential for Al to flame up at Havoc for discouraging his idea. This day was going to be such a challenge. She understood that the doctor chose to give Al time to prepare himself, after weighting the pros and cons of just springing it on him when it was time to go. This option won out; but it was by no means the most painless process.

"You mean did."

"No, he still does once in a while," Havoc said. "His hair hasn't all grown back, but most of it's still pretty long."

Al frowned. "I guess no one wants me to know what it has to grow back from, exactly. But I can imagine."

"So," Winry said with a chipper voice, lacing her fingers into his hair and pulling it back. "Should we? Not quite long enough to braid yet - but we could do a ponytail."

"I dunno. I don't think so. It might make it harder for him to recognize me. I mean, if he's going to. I think we should cut it. It looks so much lighter when it's long. I want to look as much like the person he remembers as I can. Doesn't that make sense?"

"It does. You want me to cut it?"

"Do you know how Mom used to do it?"

She shook her head. "I only know how it looked. I didn't pay much attention when she was cutting it. I think I only saw her do it maybe once or twice. You were so good about sitting still for it. But Ed…"

"Man, he complained like she was cutting his ears off," Al said wryly.

"He had to have his say about everything, that's for sure."

"Yeah. Like what he ate, when he got up, when he went to bed, chores, baths, brushing teeth, doing homework," Al ticked off Ed's various beefs on his fingers, shaking his head. His eyes stung a little, picturing the power struggle between little Ed and their endlessly patient mother, who would smile and listen and re-issue whatever order he defied until he reluctantly did as he was told. Even when he was being stubborn, Ed was never mean to their mom; just argumentative. It seemed to Al that his older sibling felt guilty after every one of those clashes, but just couldn't stop himself from doing it again the next time the situation arose.

"A natural rebel, huh?" Havoc smiled.

"I'll say. So how do we do this?"

"You'd have to try going to Lieutenant Hawkeye and see if she can get you some scissors from supply. I sure don't have any here," Havoc said doubtfully.

"Okay, I can do that. If you're sure, Al?"

"Yeah. I'm going to have this body from now on. Right? So it's no big deal. Especially if it might help. I can grow it out again later. "

"Go in and wash your hair while she's doing that. You want it damp, right, Winry?"

"I guess, sure. Hang on, Al, I'll be right back."

It wasn't very nice to feel relieved to be out of the room; but bursting into the hallway, it was like she'd managed a temporary escape. Al was a wreck and it was taking both of them to distract him enough to keep him from going off at every little thing. A little barber work would give them all something else to think about and do for a while. The biggest doubt in her mind was in her ability to do a decent job in such nerve-wracking conditions. It should have been nothing considering her experience doing precision automail procedures in all kinds of situations, but this seemed very important to Al, and if she didn't get his look just right, his reaction was something she was not looking forward to.

With Al this wound up, she couldn't begin to fathom how Ed was going to manage. It just didn't seem like there was any chance that things would go well with this meeting.

It was far too short of a journey to Lt. Hawkeye's desk.

"Hi, Winry. Something I can do for you?" the officer asked with a smile in her voice, somehow identifying her visitor as she approached without looking. She slid the cabinet drawer shut and turned to meet the anxious look in the young girl's eyes.

"For Al, really. He wants his hair cut. Can I borrow some scissors?"

She hadn't even considered that the reaction would be anything but 'sure, here, take them.'

"Scissors," the Lieutenant frowned. "Is that a good idea?"

"Well," she stammered. "I need them to cut his hair."

"Whose idea was that?"

"Al's."

"Hold on a minute. You realize that taking anything sharp in his proximity violates the doctor's standing orders, don't you?"

"I'm just going to cut his hair. Then I'll bring them right back. Lieutenant Havoc is right there to watch. Hey, wait, he's the one that told me to come to you to get them!"

"Did he? Then, if you think about it, that's not what he was doing. He sent you to me with the request because he knows it's not allowed. And he probably doesn't want to upset Alphonse by telling you right in front of him."

"Oh." Winry placed her fingertips on the edge of the desk and digested those remarks, snuffing the touch of indignation sprouting at the refusal to honor her request. "So what do I tell him?"

"Well, I can try something first. Let's see what Dr. Gansworth says, if I can get him on the line."

Winry heard a faint click and the tinny sound of a greeting. Hawkeye didn't finish her question before the voice increased in volume, interrupting her.

"That was my response. Yes, doctor. And what do you suggest…he does. Hold on. Winry, is there any particular reason he gave for wanting to do this now?"

"He thinks he'll look more familiar to Edward if his hair is short. He wants it to be the way it was the last time Ed saw him as a little boy."

"Did you hear her…yes. Do I? No. Okay. Yes, he is. I can stand by, too. I will get his approval. If he decides against it, I'll be contacting you. Thanks. Bye."

Hawkeye sighed as she hung up. "Okay. It might be possible. First, we have to get the Colonel's approval. Then we'll need to get first aid scissors, the kind with a dull tip for cutting off bandages."

"Oh, I know the kind you're talking about."

"They're not as dangerous, but they still wouldn't be safe in Al's hands, either. I hope you understand that we're just looking out for everyone's safety. And at a time like this, we need to be very cautious."

They solemnly approached the Colonel's office . The Lieutenant cleared her throat to warn him of their approach, since the door was slightly ajar; but Mustang had the ears of a rat, and he was already expecting them, halfway up to speed on the situation from eavesdropping.

xxx

"Where the heck did you go?" Al asked impatiently, turning on his heel to switch from pacing to gesturing in the air. "My hair's almost dry already!"

"Don't blame her," Hawkeye said. "It's my fault. I had a hard time finding some scissors. We had to borrow a pair from the dispensary."

Havoc smiled blithely. Three of the four souls in the room were now communicating on the same wavelength, aware that the main goal here was not to cut hair, but to keep the peace. It occurred to Winry just how good the man was at orchestrating covert operations. She had been sent on one without even knowing it.

Al struggled to hold himself still; unaware the entire time, as Winry snipped more that just a little nervously, that the two soldiers watching companionably were in arms reach on purpose. The pair stood ready for any wrong move.

When she took the last snip, Hawkeye was quick to relieve her of the implement. It looked a little rough; but that was actually about the same as when his mom did the job. Winry combed it, then ruffled it up a little.

"Go have a look. That's the cut I remember."

Al disappeared into the bathroom; he emerged moments later with a different attitude. He sailed out to grace the world with a grateful smile and hug for his stylist.

"Perfect," he said, a tiny bit of blush rising on his cheeks as he held onto her at arm's length for a few moments after the all-too-brief hug.

"I thought so. Not bad, if I say so myself." The smile on her face didn't come close to revealing the relieved whoop of victory inside. Not only was he not upset, he was feeling a little better.

"Looking good, Alphonse. Well, I'd better get back to my post," Hawkeye said, taking the contraband away without further delay. He may have been smiling, but the sudden shift from surly captive to Mr. Nice Guy was always disturbing in her eyes; mainly because she couldn't see that he had any control over the transition at all. Indeed, he didn't seem to be aware that it was anything abnormal.

Winry caught the exchange between Havoc and Hawkeye as the deadly serious woman went out the door, but only because she was looking for it now. They were able to communicate wordlessly; Winry had a feel for what the understanding was, but not entirely. There was a subtle hand signal; at least, she thought it was a hand signal. Maybe she was just getting paranoid.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Fire away, Al. Hey, that does kind of suit you." Havoc took his own turn ruffling the new haircut. "Yeah. Much easier to mess with."

"Quit it! No, I was thinking. Well…we've been avoiding some subjects. But now that I think about it, this could be the last chance we have to talk without Ed hearing for a while. Once we get back together, I imagine that we'll be together all the time. And there's some things that I might need to know."

Havoc swallowed hard. Together all the time? They'd be lucky Ed made it past the first ten minutes. "Like what?"

"Uh…" Al glanced at Winry; this wasn't stuff he wanted to discuss in front of her. But realistically, she knew most of this already. He was the only one in the dark. "I haven't asked, but, I think I do need to know. I hear things. So I believe that there are a lot of things I don't know. About what happened to Edward. The details. The things they did to him."

Winry was holding her breath now, too.

"Well," Havoc started out slowly, "I don't think this the right time for that. You know that what he went through was pretty terrible. And since he hasn't been able to talk about it very much, a lot of what we've been going on is just guesswork. Let's just leave it at that for now."

"Don't you think I have a right to know? He's my brother. You guys shouldn't know more about him than I do."

"It's not that we want to keep it from you. It's just the timing. You don't need to be getting upset and have all this banging around in your head when you're trying to concentrate and stay calm for his sake."

"I might do exactly the wrong thing because I'm ignorant. No one's said anything about what I'm supposed to say or do, or not do."

Havoc considered giving him the basics. When you deal with Ed, don't restrain him, don't hurt him, don't make sudden moves, no loud noises…that seemed to be fine.

But those things were pretty obvious. The kind of things Al wanted to know also encompassed things that were thornier. Like, he did need to know not to touch the back of Ed's neck. Every one of his caregivers was well aware of that warning, and the reason for it.

No way in hell was Havoc going to give Alphonse those kinds of warnings and have to explain the "whys" this close to their meeting.

"Dr. Gansworth will give you the low-down on what to do and what not to do. I don't want to speak out of turn."

Al turned to Winry, searching her face. "Win?"

"You know how badly he was hurt. I…"

"No, I don't! I've seen that he's all scarred up, sure, but I don't know what it was like, what all they did to him! I was down in the dirt while all that was going on. Down in the…ah, shit. Never mind. Just…drop it." Al waved at them dismissively, heading back to his bed in an uneven, stilted gait.

Down in that dirt for the better part of a year. A year, how many hours did that come out to? Every minute of burial was an eternity. His gut quaked at the thought of it, an his hands followed suit. All that time with no light, no sense of movement, nothing to hear but the noise of creepy-crawlies in the cold soil. Forced there by his own brother. After…

Sure, he'd phased out in the armor early on in their capture, but he was conscious when the abuse was starting to get serious. When he came to again, Ed was being beaten bloody with a vicious precision that clearly showed the attacker's total disregard for life and limb. Ed was going to die; what kind of brother wouldn't scream at them to stop, even if it meant that the freaky homunculus would surely turn on him instead.

Those inhumanly long, dagger-like fingers scraping at the blood seal caused the most unexpected thing of all: pain, the only thing in the nature of true physical sensation that he'd felt in years. It was unbearable. His screams would never have stopped, but for the explosion of fury that was Edward, incensed beyond sanity at his cries, determined enough to supercharge with inhuman strength and blast away with alchemic attacks until he had them both free…

Free to be interred for what could have been forever. No, it wasn't fair to be upset about it. A person should be grateful to be saved. It was just a year lost, versus a lifetime, it was more than fair, it was evil to be so angry and keep thinking about it, dwelling on it, having all these strange thoughts. Ed went through much worse. The need to know just exactly what Ed had been through was more than just morbid curiosity or the need to understand his suffering to treat him properly now.

If it was sufficiently horrible, it might make it easier to forgive him, to be less angry at him, because no matter what the facts were, when the memories of being trapped came to the surface, they always came with an extra payload of the anger and betrayal that had possessed him throughout the ordeal.

Damn…there wasn't any benefit to remembering, but it was all coming back whether he wanted it or not.

Still, he had only impressions, no details, even when it came to the small part he had witnessed of his brother's suffering.

His imagination began filling in the details for him, capturing all of his attention. Ed's face was difficult to picture the way it was now, because the handful of times they'd been face-to-face, there had been so little time, and so much going on, the situation incredibly stressful each time. It seemed there were reddened and then darker hues, more like a rust or verging on purple, in uneven areas across his forehead and down to the jaw on one side. His eyes looked strange, maybe swollen around them, and his lower lip look raw and painful. His cheeks were gaunt, sunken, and that was almost as frightening as the injuries, because Ed always tackled his meals with gusto no matter how tough things got; even when he professed to be riddled with guilt about being able to enjoy food while Al could not. From what Al had witnessed, there was no life-affirming activity that Ed indulged in with more enthusiasm than eating.

If Ed didn't want to eat then he didn't want to live. It might make some difference if Al knew whether he deliberately shunned sustenance or suffered from subconscious interference or some kind of medical problems.

It would be better if Ed wasn't actively trying to starve himself out of existence, but if it the reasons were behavioral and not medical, it probably meant the same thing. That dovetailed with the story Mustang had told him about Ed trying to transmute himself. The purpose of the story - likely watered down to minimize the upset, so who knew how much more there was to it - was to emphasize that Al needed to be obedient and cooperative to make sure their meeting went well. At minimum, Ed was to be made to understand that Al was alive and that no further self-sacrifice was necessary for his well-being.

So this had to work. He had to make it work. Had to. This had to work out. Had to…

"Has to!" His fist was starting to hurt, and it was only then that he realized he has been socking the wall and was starting to use too much force.

His next swing slowed, coming under conscious control until his fist met the dull painted surface with gentle pressure and stayed there. He let his eyes focus properly on the wall, then the back of his hand, and the world slowly grew from there, until his awareness encompassed the entire room again.

Havoc had a hand on his shoulder from somewhere behind him; he could feel, but not see it, still facing the wall.

The silence seemed sudden, and he got the impression that he had been making considerable noise up until he noticed he'd gotten carried away with his thoughts.

"Ah," Al tried a little laugh but failed. "Sorry, got a little lost in thought there." When Havoc didn't reply straight away, his bad feelings grew.

It was just a minute or something, right? What's the big deal, everyone drifts off when they should be listening sometimes…

So why was he so reluctant to turn and face them?

Wait…Winry was still here…right?

He did turn, with a sinking feeling, because his knuckles were red, skinned and swelling.

The look on Winry's face knocked the wind out of him.

_I didn't hit anyone, did I? I didn't hit her! Please, please, don't let me find out that I hurt her somehow…_

"What is it, Al?" Winry chirped nervously.

"Easy, buddy. You doing okay now? Everything's all right."

Al shook his head hard, not only to clear out the haze, but to dismiss Havoc's solicitous tone. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine! No, what…" He raked his fingertips up his face and then into his hair.

"If you say you're fine now, then you are. That's great. I still need you to come on over here and sit down. "

From the look on their faces, they hadn't been attacked. A deep, ragged intake of breath and slow, measured exhale calmed him as relief set in. _I didn't hurt them. It was no big deal._

Before he realized it, he was sitting as directed and watching Havoc tend to his swelling knuckles.

"Maybe you should try the mattress instead of the wall the next time you get angry," Havoc suggested quietly.

"I wasn't mad."

"No? It seemed like you were."

"Un-uh. Just…concentrating, that's all. Trying to focus. Ouch!"

"Sorry. I need to get this clean where the skin is broken."

"Ah…you know…" Al struggled to find an explanation, something to assure that they would go forward with tomorrow's plans. "I just…I just had a moment there, I know, but it's okay now, you know? Sorry. Sorry if I got a little weird. It won't happen again."

"Sure, just take it easy, all right?" Havoc tended the shaking, wounded hands, wondering if Al was unaware of the involuntary motion.

"I just want to make sure this is all good. Just gotta keep it together, and I will."

Winry knelt down and put a hand on his knee.

"We're here for you."

"This is going to hurt him again, but in the long run, it's best. We'll just do it and get that first shock over with. Then I can help him. I can help him a lot. He's probably not going to, you know, he's not himself, so I have to hang in there and work with him and all. But it's good, it's for good reasons. "

"Yeah." Winry felt helpless; the boy she'd known so well for so many years appeared to be unraveling before her very eyes. "That's a good attitude. It's good that you don't expect too much at first."

"But it's a start, that's the thing, we have to start, we haven't even started yet and look at all this time I've been wasting. Just waiting and waiting, like right now, I hate it, I hate waiting. I'm a doer, I do things, I don't sit around and wait."

"You sure are."

Al winced, not from the pain as Havoc wrapped the bandage on his hand, but from the acute awareness that he wasn't keeping up a very good front at all. They could see right through him, he was more than certain, but his wits refused to pull together and give him anything intelligent to say, while the agitation and nerves wouldn't let him shut up.

Winry racked her brain for the right words to help Al. It was so complicated; too much sympathy and Al immediately shut it out, pretending he didn't need help and pushing everyone away. But acting as if nothing was wrong left him all at sea, acting out in strange ways when his brave front proved too difficult to maintain.

The longer she stood, shifting from foot to foot mutely, the more the pressure grew to do or say something, anything, to help him. It was getting close to feeling like panic. That was the only explanation she could give herself for her next course of action.

Al stood without regard to the Lieutenant's need to have him hold still, starting to resist.

"Hold up, just give me one more minute," Havoc asked, standing up with him and hanging on as he pulled away, still trying to get the darned first aid tape to tear to finish off the job securely. "Sorry, I need to finish this. Stop moving, Al."

Winry saw his good hand clench into a fist and reacted immediately.

She launched forward, bracing her palms on his broad shoulders, and kissed him full on the lips.

It was a long minute of silence. Not only Al, but Havoc froze as well. It was hard to say, of the three of them, whose eyes were open wider as she stepped back just as abruptly.

"I…I…" she stammered into Al's naked stare, "I've been want to do that ever since I got here!"

Al swallowed. Havoc deliberately returned to his task without comment, withdrawing from the exchange, concentrating on the tape again.

Winry chewed at the inside of her mouth nervously as Al took in a slow breath, clearly taking a moment to gather his thoughts before deciding what to say.

Her mind was so full of the possible reactions she ended up without a clue as to how he was going to respond. No doubt, she had managed to do what hours of cajoling, sympathy, distraction and medication could not.

He wasn't obsessing about Ed, at least for the moment.

The look that came across his face made her heart stop. If eyes could truly exude warmth and affection, this was one such occasion. Deep in the pit of her stomach, his sincerity hit home.

"So have I," he said, the emotion in his voice raw with the true depth and complexity of the simple statement. His reddened cheeks telegraphed the impulse he barely suppressed - to grab her up and kiss her again, and maybe again, until this fleeting moment turned into something more, something they would have to acknowledge as a new direction in their relationship.

Working on emotional radar, she picked up on the signal and held her breath. She adored Al, always, but this wasn't something to do thoughtlessly, not if she wasn't sure. Yes, it would distract him, and yes, if she lead him on, he would probably feel really good about it, if this reaction was any indication.

But this also opened up a Pandora's box of bad things she hadn't thought out at all. If Al was hiding these feelings, and they seemed to be strong ones, he already knew the risks this quantum shift in their relationship would present.

It was the same fear of losing one another that kept them both standing eye to eye, unable to decide what to do next.

She took a breath to speak, finally, thinking that she would apologize to Al and Havoc for doing something so personal without warning and without asking for privacy.

"I'm sor-"

Al cut her off in a flash, fear pushing him to try and minimize the damage this could do if his feelings were unwelcome.

"No, don't be sorry. We're just close, like always, it's natural, so it's okay if we did that. Right? " He grimaced, as the next words forming in his head made another possibility clearer. Had she done it out of pure sympathy? "I can only thank you. I guess you could say that I needed that. So, you know - thanks."

"Oh. Sure!" Winry chirped.

"Well. Can I stop playing invisible man now?" Havoc broke in, further diffusing the awkwardness with a bratty flair. "Why don't we go to the rec room and take some snacks. You guys can play spin the bottle or something."

Winry blushed and smiled a little in relief.

"Pft," Al snorted, hiding his own relief as well. "No one asked you to be my shadow all the time."

_You didn't, but somebody did,_ Havoc thought._ And it was an order._

"Just can't get enough of ya, buddy."

Al flexed his bandaged hand and shook his head. The interruption was enough that he no longer understood how he came to do something like that. Presented with the enigma of his own behavior, he set it aside and ignored it.

The trip to the rec room was a godsend of a distraction.

xxxx

"That's it. He's coming around."

"I hope you're right. And no, sir, I haven't seen this sort of nightmare activity in a very long time. It would most assuredly have been in my reports."

"Yes. I'm fairly certain now that it's due to the drug trial. Although…this is an extremely stressful time for him."

Armstrong raised an eyebrow as the doctor unexpectedly gave him a gentle push to position him in physical contact with Ed's slowly stirring shoulder. "So..?"

"So, yes, I'm discontinuing the medication. I don't have the authority to remove the current source of stress, I'm afraid. Right there, Major, give him tactile confirmation of your presence. I want to be sure that the first thing he's aware of is you. Let's bring him around as gently as possible."

The aimless movement of Ed's hands gelled into grasping motions as soon as the color of the coat trickled into view. He grabbed and pawed and clawed at the hem with little coordination, as if he could find a way to climb up inside the heavy garment with its owner still in occupancy.

"Hold on, Edward, hold on, I'm right here."

"That's it, Major, keep talking to him."

xxxxxx

The coat, the coat was the thing, the first thing that had touched him with the possibility that the torture had finally ended. Not a coat but coats, still warm with body heat, somehow alive and lifting him up. It was always there in the back of his mind, a memory too harsh to examine very closely, but with enough influence to have him ever seeking the material to feel it, longing to see the color, to smell the differences between the well-worn linings.

Armstrong moved a bit awkwardly, with Ed's arm now fully under the coat and his head pushing to follow. There was no way they were both going to be able to fit in it at the same time, no matter how much Ed seemed determined to do so.

Gansworth watched, groping again for the meaning of Ed's behavior, the obsession with hanging on to those he trusted. It seemed obvious in many ways, he would naturally want to cling to those he saw as protectors, to try and feel safe and secure. The disconnect came when he would stop interacting with the person but continue to obsess with the material.

"Major," he called softly. "See if that's what he wants. Let him have it."

The study fingers were delft in plucking the buttons open; there was a moment of resistance where removing the jacket took too much of it out of Ed's reach. But when it was free, it was the garment that got all of the attention, leaving the huge alchemist to watch and reflect on it as well.

"Just so. Interesting," Gansworth said to himself.

"That's really not so surprising now that I stop and really think about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Considering how we brought him in to the infirmary."

"And how was that? I don't recall anything unusual. He'd been placed him on the gurney by the time I saw him." Gansworth motioned to his ear. "Quietly, please, so he can't hear."

"We no idea he would be injured when we set out to search. So when we came upon him in such a state, there was no stretcher and no time to fetch one…the Colonel came up with the notion when he saw that Edward was still with us. He had to be slung on something, so he had us to remove our coats and use them to carry and cover him. There didn't seem to be any other way to move him quickly without doing further damage. I would have carried him myself but there was just no place to grip him safely. It took six of us, lined up like pallbearers, but Colonel Mustang's instincts were sound. We were able to move with considerable speed despite the terrain."

"So that must be it. He was directly in contact with them during the whole of the rescue."

"Yes, sir." Most of the men abandoned their gruesomely soiled garments at the emergency room; Armstrong had wavered, wanting to ask for his back as some tangible evidence that Ed was still alive when they brought him back, but not wanting to seem ghoulish. By the time he finally decided to return to the infirmary to ask for it, it had been disposed of.

Only the Colonel had kept his own blood-soaked coat; walked out with it over his arm that very day, as if nothing could be more natural.

"But wait…I thought he was unconscious when you were transporting him."

"No. Not at all. I remember, he only tried to struggle at first. But he was still somewhat awake off and on the whole rigorous journey back. We tried to be careful, but…"

"Oh…I see. So he has that tactile experience connected with survival. I thought he had no memory of the rescue, but this indicates otherwise. He…watch out, now. See if he'll settle back now that he has it. Move him back that way."

Ed identified the whisperer's deep rumble as Armstrong's, but couldn't pick up the words. "M-major…"

"Right here, Edward. Here," he moved to guide Ed's hand as it emerged from under the jacket so that it found him easily.

"Who's here with you?"

"I'm here," Gansworth said. "He's just talking to me. When you're ready, just look and you'll see."

"Too bright. My eyes."

Gansworth nodded to the Major; he sounded fairly rational.

Ed reared up suddenly, breathless. "Today!"

"What is it?"

"Today! I see Al today! It's Al, I gotta believe it's really him, I mean, I'll check and all, but yeah!"

"Close, very close. It's tomorrow. You have a little more time to get used to the idea. And we can talk about how you're feeling about it."

"T-tomorrow?" Ed's arms wrapped around the coat and crushed it to his chest in a fierce hug. "It's not morning?"

"No, son. You just had a little nap."

"Oh." Ed's bleary eyes closed, and his body slowly pulled together into a ball, tottering upright.

"Feeling all right?"

Ed made a non-committal noise, followed by a heavy sigh. He was relieved to be awake. From his throbbing head to his quaking bowels to his jittering heart, he felt anything but ready to take on the subject of his last nightmare. Al, in his dream, was escorted into the room as the loving little brother he remembered, but at his first words exploded into hate-filled rage, growing abusive and violent. The soldiers had all watched dispassionately as the one-sided battle escalated. Ed couldn't bring himself to fight back until it became clear that Al meant to tie him up to continue hurting him, showing no sign of mercy. No one moved to help as Al's face, ugly and spitting curses, slowly morphed into Envy's chilling image.

A not-so-subtle reminder that this news of Al was all secondhand information, assumptions based on the beliefs of those who had no idea just how thoroughly the enemy could be fooling them.

Renewed dread did not translate into hesitation - there'd been far too much of that already. If it was today, this minute, he still would have gone through with it. Nothing could be allowed to delay this any further. No matter how unrecognizable the world had become.

Certain things had to stay in focus. Al. Making sure Al was all right, and left in the care of his new brother Havoc. And getting enough strength together to destroy the homunculus even if he would surely die trying. The enemy wanted him, it didn't matter why, and they would hurt everyone he knew to get him. Maybe he'd summoned them from hell when he'd committed his sin, and they wouldn't go away until this was settled between them. Whatever. While the walls moved and his body lied and the permanence of time and space was a thing of the past, those two goals had to be a constant.

The smooth lining of the coat was grounding, comforting, real. It was involuntary when he flinched away from a touch to his arm. He thought they wanted the coat back. He caught himself, steeling his will, getting ready to let go without a fuss to keep them from seeing how frayed his thinking was right now.

Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus. If you show too much distress, they may postpone things again. He tried to loosen up his hold on the coat.

"Relax. Everything is all right. No one here is going to harm you."

"I know that," he said tersely.

"Good. Good. Can you look at me, please? Just look up. I need to see your eyes."

The amber eyes came into view, hooded and reluctant. "Tomorrow."

"That's the plan. How do you feel about that?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow. What time is it? How long? What time will I see him?"

"Not sure, exactly. Early afternoon. After lunch."

"Why after lunch? I won't be able to eat," Ed blurted.

"You'll have to have something. You know that. You haven't had anything at all today. You can't keep missing meals."

"It's not my fault."

"Today wasn't, that's true. But overall I think you may not realize that you've stopped eating much of anything unless Lt. Havoc helps you with your meal. Is there something I might do to help?"

Ed frowned. It was the same old thing, and it wasn't like he was doing it to be difficult. The doctor didn't realize what a big stake he had in building himself back up, and how hard it was to keep trying and failing at it. Of course he was trying.

He needed to get some backbone. No one had ever forced him to develop backbone like the Colonel had. Therefore…

"I need to see Colonel Mustang."

Avoiding the subject? Gansworth wondered. Back to seeking pain and punishment? "Do you? Well, you'll be seeing him tomorrow. Now, back to my question…"

"That's my answer."

"May I ask what it is that you're hoping he'll do for you?"

"He just…he might straighten things out."

"Are you saying that you're confused about something?"

"Gah, you talk so damned much." Ed buried his head in his hands. "I just need to see him."

"All right. I'll make sure that he comes in beforehand."

"Before…Al."

"You still have to take in some nourishment between now and then. I have something on the way…"

Ed came half off of the bed, roaring and flinging the coat, losing his balance and having to be saved from a fall by the very person he was raging at.

"Stop pushing me! Take it, take this stupid thing, stop talking to me! Get out, get the hell away from me!"

"Easy now, you nearly took a fall." Gansworth returned him to the bed; the Major stepped in to assist, but it really wasn't needed. Ed's fury was weak and his movements were without weight; it felt forced, uncertain.

"Just take it! Why doesn't anybody listen to me? I said get out!"

"Shhh, now, let's not be so loud. I didn't plan to take it. I want you to have it."

"I can't keep it! You can't give it away, either! It belongs to Major Armstrong! You can't take a man's uniform!"

Armstrong replied before the doctor had a chance.

"But I can give it to you if I like. I have a replacement, this one is getting quite old. I have a nasty tendency to rip them out at the shoulder over time. This one is just about ready to go, so I already have a new one."

"So? I don't want your junky old coat. Just take it back." But the flesh hand that held out the garment was shaking, Ed was the only one who thought this act was convincing.

"You need it, Edward, so just keep it."

"I don't need it! How do you figure that?"

"You're trembling," Armstrong argued diplomatically. "See here, you're freezing. The State uniform is meant to provide warmth in severe conditions; you should wrap up in it. You can't afford to be chilled, lad. You don't want to catch a cold and end up postponing that meeting with Alphonse yet again."

Ed clutched the coat back at that, wrung out from the exchange, all born from trying to suppress his need for the very thing being insisted upon him.

Gansworth and Armstrong shared a look. Mission accomplished. Ed now had in his possession a tangible security blanket of sorts, one with deep meaning, symbolic of the forces supporting and caring for him even in the darkest of hours. And they had done it in such a way that Ed didn't have to admit his emotional need for it.

It might come in very handy about this time tomorrow.

"I'm not going to catch a cold."

"We'll certainly do what we can to prevent it. A little cooperation from you would go a long way to that end. Let's try to keep our conversation on a peaceful level and explore some of your calmer, safer inner thoughts. I think we should focus on finding some strategies to help you cope with the extra stress you're facing right now."

Ed grunted, rubbing his forehead. The guy was wanting to crawl around in his brain again. He wasn't sure that he could find the patience for that today.

"You seem to be having a hard time getting your bearings. I can help if you'll let me."

"Naw." The light seemed to be dim. "It's getting dark already?"

"Cloudy. I think there's more rain coming in."

"Rain?" Ed's feet hit the floor again, along with the precious jacket, suddenly abandoned and unnoticed as he made for the door.

"Hold up. Slow down." Gansworth hesitated; the decision to allow Ed to pass into the hallway was a close one, but he decided not to interfere. His patient went directly for the wall of glass.

Ed stumbled to the nearly invisible boundary, planting his forehead squarely into it with a frame-rattling thump.

"Rain."

"Yes, just a little. More of a light shower, really. It's been coming down off and on since last night. Come on, now. Let's continue our session. You can weather-watch a little later if you like."

Ed's brow rolled against the cold surface, trying to press out all the fevered thoughts boiling in his head.

"Feels like I have to do something. Something important. To save Al. Still. I still get that feeling. I just hope...I hope it's the truth. That he's all right. I'm so scared its not going to be Al and then what? I'm already the worst brother ever. Look at everything that's happened to him and it's because of me. All my doing. Dad leaving, Mom dying, losing his body, being buried alive. How do I stop? I never meant to make any of it happen but I did it all. I can't do any more bad things to my little brother. I just can't. I have to see him, but…I should just stay away from him."

"Ed, you have to stop blaming yourself. Try to calm down. Al is great, there's no reason to stay away from him if you want to see him. His body is back, he's young and strong...what he needs the most right now is to be with you and make sure you're all right. Once the two of you are back together he's going to be very relieved. It's his whole focus right now, the same as you."

Ed drew his head back and smacked it hard against the glass again. The only thing he could give Al for now was his presence - a dangerous, ticking time bomb of a gift. When the enemy came for him they would show no mercy to anyone on his side.

"Poor Al," he whispered as the Major used gentle pressure to ease him back, taking him out of range to prevent further contact with the glass."It is Al right? He has to be," he worried, staring out into the gathering storm.

"Yes. Please believe me. I wouldn't lie to you about something so important."

"I didn't mean that I think you're a liar."

"Let's return to your room for now. We have another visit from Lt. Havoc on the schedule in just a few minutes. Let's see if we can find our center and do some calming routines so you'll have an easier time working with him when he gets here." Gansworth smiled affably and let the Major move his charge physically out of the hall and back into the room.

Ed went along in silent worry. Feeding time at the zoo; no, more like the nursery. As much as he wanted to resist being treated like an addled child, somehow this was the only way to stay fed and on track for battle-readiness.

And, shameful though it was, he needed Havoc's company and cherished the sanctuary of being wrapped in that secondhand coat.

Al, if this truly was Al, was going to be shocked at his older brother's weakness, but there was no way around it.

"Thank you, Edward. This is nice. When your meeting takes place, this is what we'll be striving for. Just a quiet, thoughtful time where the two of you can enjoy seeing one another and get re-acquainted. It doesn't have to be any louder. There doesn't have to be any other activity. This is something that you can cope with, don't you think?. I assure you that we 'll keep it low-key. And if you want to end the visit at any time, you can do so."

"Yeah," he replied, snatching up the coat from the floor and rolling into it and onto the bed simultaneously, settling in to watch the dreary hallway for Havoc to appear.

xxxxxxxxx

"It was a no-go. I told you. They said they didn't know. He didn't know, himself. They told him he can't do it and he's an obedient little oaf. Look, you may be disappointed, but that is not my problem." Kimblee flicked a ball of lint from the brim of his hat and settled it back on his head firmly. There was a definite chill in the room, but he wasn't entirely sure that it was related to the temperature of the place. He wasn't planning on removing his trench coat anyway.

"That information isn't worth shit. You're not going to give him anything for it. Are you?"

"A deal is a deal, Envy. I agree, it's not what we wanted. But I suppose, he did do what we agreed to pay for."

"Kimblee's cheating you! There's no proof he even went."

"I thought you might try to say that. How's that nose, Gluttony?" Kimblee held out a few strands of hair, giving Envy his coldest smile. "Tell your trash-mouth friend whose head this grew on."

"Aw-w-w-w-w, Gluttony whined. "It's him. I wanted to eat him sooooo bad. He was practically meat anyway."

"Whose is it, Gluttony?" Lust asked.

"The little guy. The Fullmetal Alchemist."

"Well?"

"Fuck him!" Envy snarled. "Don't give it to him."

"Grow up," Lust sighed. "Here, handsome. Just like new. Don't be a stranger, though. Understand? This still carries an obligation."

"Of course. I'm in your debt. Not his, though. What is that creature he's holding? I don't see how Gluttony can smell anything with that thing reeking up the place."

"You bastard! I'll bite your head off and shove it up your…"

"It's Envy's little pride and joy. He's a little sensitive about it. It's not quite turning out like he planned."

"Oh. That's…" Kimblee's sentence trailed off to silence. He wasn't sure whether to be hysterically amused by the abomination, or a little afraid of the idea that it was still growing. "…interesting."

"What it is, is none of your damned business."

Kimblee shrugged, turning the bright red stone over in his hand, barely able to suppress his glee. This was too easy. The homunculi were fearsome predators, but they weren't very smart. People died, spent years searching, sold their souls in pursuit of a stone like this. To turn it over for such small favor was just foolish.

He gave a bare tip of his hat and nodded farewell.

"I won't take up any more of your valuable time."

"Stay in touch, Crimson Alchemist. Make certain that we can find you when the time comes for you to pay the balance on this," Lust said.

He supposed that it should have given him some pause at the thought of being indebted to them. But it truth, he liked their style, and he'd jump at the chance to sit in on a session like the one they gave Fullmetal. The prospect had him excited as he strode away, gripping the stone and fully appreciating the coverage of the long coat.

"Now where are we? We got nothin' now. I knew we should have done things my way."

"Don't blow a gasket, Envy. I had a message from that hottie Havoc. I told you I would take care of it in time. You just be patient."

"Just a message? You need to bring him out for a little playtime like we had with the Fullmetal squirt. I'll bet he knows if that buckethead brother can perform alchemy or not. I bet he'll talk."

"Maybe. We'll see. This one's mine, don't forget that. I'll have to see what my mood is when the time comes. I'm not quite the exhibitionist that you are. I don't do men for an audience, and I like my prey to be willing, at least in the beginning."

"So when? Where?"

"We're playing a bit of phone tag right now. But he's playing. So I'm confident that we'll have something set up soon"

"Just keep calling! Call every five minutes, keep calling until you get him! Why are you waiting around? Phone tag? Bullshit!"

"Tsk, tsk," Lust shook her head. "A lady doesn't have to hound a suitor. He'll call back. It's a good thing that I missed his call. It will increase his desire."

"You make me sick."

"No, that thing makes me sick. I thought I told you not to bring that here."

"Yes," Gluttony whined. "It's too greedy. It keeps stealing my treats."

"Cram it. Rage has as much right to be here as you do." The misshapen half-homunculi clung to Envy's calf, gnawing worriedly on his knee and lapping the specks of blood as they welled up. Its parent reached down and socked it affectionately on the top of its head until it cried out and let go, falling over backwards and freezing in anticipation of a kick or a stomp from the sandaled feet.

True to form, Envy's kick landed hard and propelled the smaller form several feet across the cold, dirty floor.

"Move your ass. This is boring; we're out of here." Rage scuttled ahead, covering up and flinching each time Envy got in range, taking several more hard hits before they made it through the passage entrance to start back down into the tunnels.

"I never could figure out why anyone would want to have children," he chortled, snagging Rage by the throat and kissing him on the forehead as he struggled for breath. "But now I totally understand. Night-night, baby. I love you."

When Rage went limp he tucked him carefully into his sleeping box, giving him one last kiss while making sure he was breathing again. He backed out of the makeshift cell and locked the door, smiling and proud. It was time to hunt fresh game for his young. That was a really good feeling, too.

This parenting thing was best idea he'd ever had.

_tbc_


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Cleaning his glasses for the fourth time since starting the report, Gansworth held them to the light and checked for any smears he may have missed, squinting with a frown that matched his mood perfectly.

After settling the glasses back on his nose and retrieving the pen, he stalled short of writing yet again.

Lies.

He was not accustomed to lying on reports. Glossing, finessing, massaging - call it what you will, making the reports to Central reflect as little of the factual information on the Elrics' progress as possible was requiring more and more dishonesty and double-talk. He took great pride in making his documentation as thorough and accurate as possible. This course of action was a tough pill to swallow.

There was no end to it in sight. And as far as he had seen, there was no concrete proof of the necessity for it. Mustang's claims of conspiracy and supernatural assailants seemed less and less plausible as the days rolled on without incident. It was causing him to wonder if he was being loyal, or foolishly throwing in with a paranoid, bordering on delusional, deeply troubled commander. Maybe he, himself, was guilty of letting the wild tales influence him unduly. The bodies he'd examined had suffered something unusual, but over time sensibility challenged his once-firm belief that some unknown terror had been chewing on them. And the infections? New strains of antibiotic-resistant infections had cropped up over the years without any implication that anything sinister was afoot before. Hysteria was famously contagious, and would account for much. Was it really easier to believe that inhuman things were to blame for performing such inhumane acts? The autopsy subjects couldn't say one way or another; and poor Edward was a most unreliable witness.

It was no secret that Mustang had issues. He was wound too tight and pushed to hard from within and without. The man was clearly fatigued, stressed, and if rumors were true, deeply and obsessively guilty about his role in Ishval and his best friends' murder, which, for unknown reasons, he seemed to feel that he should have been able to prevent.

Once the boys were together, perhaps the best thing for them _would_ be to let them transfer to Central. They had greater levels of medical staffing there. Guardianships granted by the military could also be re-designated by the brass. Mustang had been a good choice, initially. But enough, perhaps, was enough.

Well, almost enough. As tempting as it was to call a halt to this uneasy collusion here and now, his hand began to move, and the words flowed to fill in the blank lines, only pausing to tick off the appropriate check-boxes.

For whatever else he might be, Mustang was without a doubt a war hero and a well-meaning, hard-working fellow. And not a man to cross unless there was no other option. It was one thing to be considering another path, but taking all things into consideration, for now staying the course was clearly the lesser evil.

Speaking of which, a quick glance at his watch confirmed that it was time for the pre-meeting with said Colonel and his staff. There was no longer any hope of a delay. Only preparation to minimize the fallout, if even that would be listened to.

He packed up the boys' charts and took off to meet with that difficult, if troubled, soul.

xxxx

It was already happening for the second time today. Mitchell already started off this shift by witnessing a similar scene in the hall. In the midst of it, Armstrong had been more reluctant than ever to relinquish the watch to him. The monstrous alchemist lingered, stubbornly staying on task until Ed was securely back in his room. Not that Mitchell tried to interfere. If the Major wanted to finish what he started, that was no big deal to him.

Things had gone well enough after the hand-off. They had their usual wary moments after Armstrong was out of sight until the kid settled down and started blinking instead of freezing up and giving him that glassy, crazy-ass stare. It wasn't long before Ed reluctantly agreed to go for his shower, but as soon as they stepped into the hall, those damned windows drew him back like a magnet.

"The sky…" Ed breathed, fogging up the glass momentarily.

"Yeah, how about that. I thought it was going to be a pretty good storm. We sure could use the rain. Too bad it's letting up already. Come on, guy, that's enough stalling, let's get going." Mitchell sighed, his store of good-natured banter nearly exhausted already. This was his third time filling on this watch, and the whole thing kind of bugged him. For all the time they spend in briefings about the kid's possible behaviors, when it came down to it, his primary activities were ignoring people and acting all weird. Maybe Ed just didn't like him; they'd yet to have a real conversation.

For the most part, it was all just talking _at _Ed, trying to get him to get his head out of his ass and do things any 7-year-old worth his salt did every day of the week. Sure, he could understand that things might be scary for somebody who'd been beat to crap, but he wasn't hurt any more, and why he could stand up straight and walk and talk normally one minute and then have to crawl around hugging the floor making creepy noises the next was beyond him. It was more like the brass was satisfied with letting this kid milk their guilt trip, always wanting to keep everyone fired up about his 'condition' to defend their policy of letting him act like a spoiled punk, getting attention by refusing to eat and screwing up anything they asked him to do no matter how simple.

Well, he wasn't getting a warm and fuzzy feeling like the other guys that pulled this duty. It was hard to relate to them when the subject came up. Maybe they could get pumped up about coddling this guy so he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do; but as far as he was concerned, a good boot to the ass and a set of "or else" ground rules should have been firmly applied a long time ago.

But the Colonel had stressed how important this was to him. And to go somewhere in this man's military, the Colonel's ass was the one to kiss. He was more than ready to get those Sergeant stripes, and to make the effort necessary to get them.

Still, this was just getting ridiculous.

"Elric. Kid. _Dude_, come on. Time's a-wastin'. I got my orders, man, and not a lot of time to fulfill 'em. I'm just here for a couple of hours, and I can't blow it by letting you get off-schedule."

Ed ignored the words and their thinly veiled irritation, still taken by the view. An innocuous courtyard occupied by a handful of trees and a lone soldier patrolling with a slow, peaceful stroll. The human figure was unremarkable, a shadow beneath the moving clouds, brooding blue-gray as they wandered by in indecision, sprinkling filtered sunlight along with the drizzle but never committing to their purpose.

The man in the familiar blue uniform was reassuring even as the rain spoke to him, as it often did, in disturbing whispers; but more than that, it was the landscape itself that was bothering him now. The trees loomed as a threatening image, the largest among them radiating stark chill of hidden evil clear across the expanse of scruffy lawn and through the plate-glass barrier. A stupid tree. To be the kind of warrior that could single-handedly take down those beasts, he had to become virtually fearless. There was no room to flinch. No margin of error for blinking. He couldn't be having this kind of absurd emotional distraction with everyday things. The rain, yes, at gut level, he knew what it was prompting him to do. But there was nothing about the tree to warrant a second glance. If there was anything of concern, that trained guard, just a few strides away, would have been all over it.

He had to get a better grip. There were much bigger fish to fry than ominous plant life and unruly skies. It was time to admit to the flaw in his plan; not a great start, having it wrong at the very first step.

The only way to move forward was to address this problem from within. His mind cranked down as he tore his eyes away from the scene outside and fixed them on his cupped palms instead. At some point he'd sunk down to his knees, but that only aided his concentration. No pesky balance to maintain, after all.

Corporal Mitchell wore the scowl he always ended up wearing when Ed didn't obey and there was no one else to witness it. He wanted to take action, make it clear who was boss, and that shit better get done, or else. Talking wasn't getting him anywhere. Instead of coming along, Ed was getting entrenched on the floor, and making a show of his complete disregard for authority. When Mitchell shook the bony shoulder, he didn't even make an effort to resist. He just played possum to avoid doing as he was told.

"Really, man, that's not cool. You tired now or something? What's the deal with the silent treatment, anyway?"

Consciousness directed inward, the words passed by unnoticed. Ed was working on important matters and life was suspended while he strained to realign his mindset. It was time to change the order of things yet again. Waiting for the world to stabilize before starting to move ahead may have been a logical plan, but it was taking too long, with too little return for the effort. Rebuilding inner strength and developing the ferocity and resolve to destroy any and all homunculi had to come to the top of the priority list, or it might not happen at all. Things were crazy. Maybe he was the crazy one. It didn't matter. Crazy wasn't going away any time soon, but the urgent need to be fit for battle grew a tiny bit with each fluttering heartbeat, amplified by the very real possibility of having a vulnerable, human Al by his side to protect once more.

Just barely regained, the ability to isolate this task and the self-control to concentrate on it was just within reach enough to make it possible. Some of the knowledge from that wretched Gate did come in handy from time to time. It was imperative to apply the references from that crash course to implement the self-repair and restoration of the power of his inner chi.

_Be strong_, he willed fiercely, mentally guiding and shaping the flow of blood and energy within his body into the patterns and tone that he believed to be the most promising. The temperature of his hand and foot rose immediately in response; although it was a sign that he was performing the ritual properly, it startled him. It struck him at once that even though he'd made the commitment and decided to give it his best, he lacked confidence that it would accomplish anything at all. The positive feedback was heartening, and it spurred him on. He wasn't sure why he'd never tried this before. Alchemy was important but it wasn't everything; there were many secrets of body and mind that were revealed in the maelstrom of the Truth. The concept for this was not healing, exactly - more like cellular self-flagellation. A way for his will to lift his decrepit body up by its bootstraps.

_Steady the flow of energy. Metal and flesh. Joint and pivot, muscle and hydraulics, oil and blood, synchronize in fierce and focused strength. And for the first time - commit to honing the cold courage to strike lethal blows without hesitation_.

The back of his head was getting warm too now, and he took it as further indication that his spell was working. His whole body was responding with the heightened sensation of his own inner strength and vitality, increasing his confidence in this pursuit of becoming more capable, more deadly, without having to wait for the return of mental stability.

_Must…remember…to keep…repeating this mantra. Steady. Metal and flesh. Harmonize. Muscle and hydraulics. Strengthen. Oil and blood. Flow with energy. Nerve and conductive fiber, reciprocate. _

_Remember. Remember why you must abandon that naïve oath to preserve every living thing. Remember why only you can and must step into the role of executioner._

_Repeat._

The warmth continued to grow; now in small, far more gradual, yet steady increments, providing the feedback necessary to expand the state of deep concentration. The sensation of cold from the floor slowly vanished; and soon after, the pressure of the hard surface on the flesh knee. The physical world lost the last trace of its hold and cast him away to labor undisturbed in his personal universe.

_Repeat. _

The wan and unstable warmth at his very core, the one nearly extinguished forever by his captors, responded with a rare, positive resonance. It was never so apparent as now just how basic that core was to his entire existence, and just how much its dark and damaged state was sabotaging his recovery. Encouraged by that wisp of hope, he dug in and increased his effort, modeling each step with feedback from the last.

_Repeat._

The effort required was tremendous; daunting compared to the ratio of return. Determination kept him at it despite the meager gains for quite some time, until fatigue interrupted the loop and stole away his focus when he reached the point of nearly undetectable returns . The aggressive meditation spiral began to unravel, and he reluctantly let it go, unsure but praying that the progress was real and would last beyond this transitory frame of mind. The warmth persisted in the transition of letting go, and he briefly toyed with how nice to would be to rest and regroup so securely; to stay like this, adrift, until he felt ready to emerge.

His comfortable state was suddenly invaded by a wet, drafty cold. From the feedback his newly awakened body was giving him, the muted cast from the window was gone and he was standing in a pool of harsh artificial light.

With a grunt he tried to focus on the indistinct shape that glanced off his chest and traveled down his shoulder and back.

_What is this…I lost track of where I am again…who's there?_

It was hard to reconcile the inability to determine what was happening to him with his own lack of instinct-level alarm. His sixth sense was peaceful and unconcerned.

"Hey now," the vaguely familiar voice said. "Just hold still, damn it. The worst is just about over for both of us."

The echo and the scent of military-issue bar soap made him shake his head slightly. Water dripped from his bangs down his face, a chilly tickle that took some concentration to fully understand.

He made an uncoordinated grab for the object the moment he realized what it was. A towel. Someone else was drying him off, he realized in instant embarrassment.

"Quit moving around. Let me get this done. I'm not enjoying this, either, ya know."

Ed reached again, missing, and the towel circled briskly against his bare skin, moving out of range.

'Hey," he protested weakly. "Don't. Gimme."

The towel stopped.

"Oh, _now_ you got a tongue?"

Ed hunched his shoulders and nodded in reluctant, red-faced confusion, wanting that towel even more at the unsympathetic bite of Mitchell's snappishness.

"So what's your story? Settle down, this is what you wanted, innit? To make me do all the work?"

Ed shook his head, taken aback by the thought..

"Play dumb if you want. Whatever. My orders are to keep you on your schedule today as much as possible, so that's what I'll do. But, seriously, from now on you need to get yourself undressed and start washing your own junk. No one wants to do that shit for you. That's pathetic, man. Pathetic. I ain't your mommy."

The chill that ran up his spine was laced with embarrassment and mortification. His hands, flesh and metal, had been charged with new power just moments ago. But with the derisive words echoing off the tile, their might was lost illusion. They looked like the hands he'd woken up with this morning, unsteady and unsure as he shivered.

"Look, we gotta get through this so let's just do it. You with me now? Something wrong with your hands?

Ed shook his head to clear it and made a grab for the towel again, successful this time. It was clear now that he'd had a shower that he had no memory of. Mitchell had been holding him still...or steady, or both, he wasn't sure...with one firm hand and drying him off with the other.

"You got that now? Good deal. Dry your own self off. That works for me."

"Leggo," Ed said. His throat was awfully dry, considering that they were still in the damp shower area.

"Steady. Get to it, then."

The soldier was stripped down to his damp undershirt but the front of the light blue uniform pants had gone a sodden navy clear down to the knees. His rough hands flipped at it irritably, as if he could flick away the wet patches with the power of his annoyance.

The damp towel stole the last of the heat from Ed's hand, and it made him unsure - did it negate all the power he'd been pumping into it? Hands, something kept bringing his attention to them, the was so much to figure out about hands. Somehow, they were so much more significant than they used to be.

It was like a transmutation circle when he thought about it - using his mind and concentration, it felt like he could complete a circuit with his eyes if he stared at his hands hard enough, making a closed loop to amplify the strength, ratcheting it up in small but endless increments.

Mitchell shook his head in frustration, not a bit surprised that they hadn't accomplished much before the amber eyes were getting that spaced-out look again.

"Need help again already? All right, that's how it is, if it's my job, it's my job. Right? Let me..."

"No! I mean, I got it." Ed shook his head fiercely to bring his attention back on task.

"Do what ya got to do. Doc just wants you to stick to your schedule. You need to be all settled down and ready to eat before your lunch comes. Get this out of the way and you'll have time to loaf around in your room all you want until it gets there."

On schedule…because today was the day to see Al.

He flinched at the thought, tried to push it away. It was going to happen, he didn't have to think about it to make it come true. And thinking about it was confusing and nerve-wracking; it made it harder to prepare. It just had to be Al, that's all there was to it. It had to be his little brother and not some…

"Hey, now, don't go getting so freaked out. I'll help you…"

Ed flung his automail arm out to ward off Mitchell.

"Just be quiet!"

"Whoa." Mitchell flinched back a little. _Here comes the other reason this duty blows_. The kid had a mouth on him and no qualms about smarting off. "None of that now."

"You should have waited," Ed grumbled, irritated to discover just how much of his body the Corporal had dried off for him already.

"Hey. I told you. I got no personal desire to do this kind of shit. You're the one who wouldn't cooperate. Do I look like a nurse to you? If it wasn't for my orders, you'da been sitting in your room. A shower can't be that freakin' important. But it's on the schedule, so don't blame me."

"Where's my…" Ed started, through with talking to this guy, truly just wanting to get dressed and get back to his room. He suddenly had an acute need for the Major's coat and it was nowhere to be seen.

Mitchell pointed to a bundle of gray clothes on a bench by the lockers. "Over there. Look, I'm supposed to make sure you take a walk and stretch your legs after your shower. So walk over and get those yourself and we'll check that one off, too."

Ed clumsily wrapped the towel around his waist for the trip, getting angry that this unhelpful person would never look away. He kept staring at the automail, usually at the thigh joint, and it felt as weird as it was rude.

"Atta boy," Mitchell said, waiting and watching with folded arms as Ed struggled into his t-shirt and underwear, paying just enough attention to make sure he didn't get them on backwards. Armstrong would definitely notice that.

It was hard to loosen up and move with any grace or dexterity. Ed worried that the powerful techniques he attempted weren't done properly, or that there were side-effects to them. Getting dressed shouldn't require any special effort. He wobbled on the bench and had to concentrate to pull on the sock without tipping over, finally giving up and sitting on the cold cement floor to try and get the job done.

He growled at the situation when Mitchell, finally recognizing that he really was having difficulty, came over and put a hand on his back to steady him.

It helped - with the task - but darkened his mood a little more. He would have liked to have told the big ape to leave him alone. But for once he held his tongue.

"You know I'm supposed to get you to eat. I hear you still got a problem with it. Well, you should wise up and do as you're told. See here? This what happens if you don't eat. You can barely get dressed. And now, here we go again, I bet you can't even walk back to your room. I bet I end up carrying you. That sucks, man. If you don't have any personal pride at least take somebody else into consideration. Nobody wants to have to carry you around like that."

Ed nearly had the second sock on and yanked hard to finish pulling it up. Using the bench for leverage, he managed to make it up off the floor.

"You don't have to carry me!"

"Says you. We'll see."

Mitchell's hand on his shoulder kept him from falling over when he pulled on the loose drawstring pants, glad for the garment's simplicity. He brushed off the unwelcome hand and stood with a little more stability.

"Knock it off!"

"Okay, man, but I'm not getting too far away. It's easier to prop you up than pick you up."

Ed started for the door without comment, determined to walk back as if this jerk wasn't there. It took everything he had to succeed.

It made for an unpleasant atmosphere back in the small room. Mitchell stared at Ed, annoyed that he was laid out on the bed sulking instead of doing the upper body exercises he'd suggested, and fingered the syringe in his pocket. He only had an hour or two at most to go, and it was no real secret that he wasn't on the "A-list" of caretakers. That team was meeting now to discuss Al's visit later today. The important people had to attend. That left the boys in the hands of their "B Team" backup watch.

One injection and the rest of this shift would be a breeze. Nobody else was around to see. And Elric went nuts real regular. This could be just another one of those times. The kid got out of control and I followed my instructions to the letter. Had to do it. Had to give him the shot.

He was halfway committed to jumping on his pouting charge and giving him the injection, if only to see the look on his face when he realized that he wasn't going to get his way so easily, when he heard the sound of several people moving in the hallway. The meeting had broken up quite early, and Armstrong was hurrying back to take over.

After checking ID's, Mitchell handed back the unused syringe with mixed relief. He wouldn't have minded giving the shot at all, the kid deserved it, but he did prefer to limit his stretching of the truth while on official duty.

"Any problems, Corporal?" Armstrong asked, pausing in the hall with the stocky subordinate.

"Nah. Got him all showered up, just like you ordered. He was really out of it, had to do everything for him, but it's done. I keep offering food like you said but he's still being stubborn about snacks. That's why he's so weak, I don't get what he's thinking."

"Nothing else to report?"

"Nope. Other than that zoning out thing he does by the window when he hits the hallway. That took some doing, let me tell you. You know, just getting him to move along once he gets stuck there, it's not easy. But I took care of it, no big. Otherwise, nada, he's in good shape now."

"Good job, Corporal. I appreciate your attention to his needs."

"So I'm done here?"

"Yes, that will be all. You're dismissed."

"Great. See you around, Major."

Armstrong had a moment of slight surprise as the departing soldier took off double-time without a glance back, and apparently without any concern about letting Edward know he was leaving.

Armstrong couldn't quite pin down the emotional content in Ed's voice and wide, sad eyes as he uttered his name in greeting. But as unhappy as he looked, he also seemed to be relieved at his arrival.

"Edward, my boy. I'm back now. I hear you've showered up, all ready for the day."

Ed winced and hunched down, managing a nod as his gaze dropped.

"It doesn't look like you've touched the food I left you. Want to try a few bites now?"

Ed's nod rolled into a negative back and forth sway.

Armstrong took a seat next to the bed, sighing as Ed's head turned further down and away.

"Lad, is something bothering you?"

"I hope they haven't said a lot of things about me. I'm not…I mean, I know sometimes it's happened. But I do take care of myself. Mostly."

"Said a lot to..?"

"I wonder what Al's going to think of me. Seeing me like this is bad enough without hearing a bunch of crap about it."

"Alphonse is your brother. He's going to be very happy to see you. No one has said anything bad about you. Who would do such a thing? I don't think you have to worry about that."

"At first he'll be happy, then. Maybe. Maybe at first he won't notice. But when he does, he's going to be disappointed. I should be stronger by now but I'm not. I won't be able to hide that."

"I understand that you're worried. But I don't think you need to be. I think Alphonse will be delighted to see you no matter what," Armstrong said sympathetically, patting the bowed golden head. "I know this a difficult morning for you. Now, let's not make it any worse by forgetting this."

Ed glanced up and saw the tube of medication, a reminder that it had to be re-applied to his shoulder/automail juncture after showering. It was a little painful to admit that having that medication applied was probably the highlight of most days. It felt good; the process lasted quite a while, especially after the new automail was installed, since it had more access points to work on; and it often eased him into an oddly serene alpha-rhythm that kept the world comfortably at bay.

It was more evidence of his weakness but Al wasn't here to see it. If everyone would keep their damned mouths shut, and he could maintain in front of Al, his brother would never have to know about the mortifying amount of assistance he'd needed with day-to-day basic functions.

"_No one wants to do that shit for you. That's pathetic, man." _

Remembering the disgusted tone of those words, Ed's face flushed with embarrassment. It _was_ pathetic. That guy was absolutely right. He didn't even remember the name of the man who had been giving him such intimate care against either of their wills. That was awful, totally different than the way it felt to have the Major or Havoc help with things. But maybe it shouldn't be.

"_No one wants to do that shit for you."_

Was he making a point when he said "no one?"

Assisted with removing his shirt, he shivered, and the Major was right there with the old coat, partially draping it to allow access while making a perfectly logical excuse as to why the garment was the best for keeping him warm until the salve was applied and set.

Beefy hands unlatched the metal and cautiously began their work. Armstrong was used to the quiet that accompanied this task. He'd come to realize that it was a peaceful sort of quiet, and he let it be, only speaking when he thought he detected distress or when Ed initiated the conversation.

"Al used to do something like that," Ed said, nearly at a whisper. Al never seemed to mind working with the automail. The Major didn't show any sign that he disliked helping, either. At least that was some relief. "Not the part that opens. But the rest of it. That was his job."

"Yes. I know."

"I wonder if he remembers." _I wonder how it would feel if he did it now. Would it be uncomfortable? Embarrassing, like so many other things were becoming?_

"He does." The Major felt a twinge of disappointment. They'd had that discussion several times but Ed never seemed to retain the information.

"How do you know? He told you?"

"He actually gave me some rather strict instructions. For this, and for a few other aspects of assisting with automail care."

"No, wait! If it's really Al you wouldn't need to do that. He'd know." Ed twisted to glance back at the Major, confused. His mind only picked up half of the words, and came away alarmed with the opposite meaning.

"What?"

"He wouldn't need any instructions from you!" Ed gasped in alarm, at the same time berating himself. Stewing over irrelevant things like being embarrassed, while this could be some imposter poised to snuff his path of salvation before he even got a chance to set foot on it?

"Yes, that's correct! He doesn't."

"Why doesn't he know all that? Wait, what color are his eyes? Are you sure about him? Are you really convinced, are you really sure it's Alphonse?"

"Ed, his eyes are light brown, perhaps hazel. And he knows all about your automail problems. I think you misunderstood what I said."

Ed blinked at him, shaking his head hard. "Al should have known."

"He does know. Can you listen to me? All right? Listen carefully. He provided a great deal of information to me, including details that I didn't know before. All of it is accurate and much of it has turned out to be quite useful. I didn't tell him anything. Okay? Alphonse merely enlightened me with a number of details about helping you with your automail."

"Or…he tricked you? Into telling him and making it look like he was the one..?"

Armstrong shook his head.

"I don't know what you're saying, then. That's not what you just said before. It's all this damned noise, I can't concentrate."

Other than their conversation, the Major didn't think it could be any quieter. There wasn't a sound he could detect anywhere in the hallway.

He nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Edward, I didn't mean to confuse you. Do you think you can help me figure out what noise is bothering you? Maybe there's something I can do to help."

"How long, how long now?" Ed's flesh hand pushed into his face, clumsily rubbing at his cheeks and eyes.

"Just a couple of hours. As a matter of fact, it's time for you to take a little something for me." Armstrong reached into his pocket and produced an amber bottle, shaking out a tiny pink pill.

"No!" Ed smacked a hand on top of the Major's, but the huge fist had closed over the medication, holding it tight to avoid dropping it. "I'm not taking that!"

"Easy, now. Edward, you know the doctor's conditions for this. You agreed to cooperate."

"No, that…what is that stuff, anyway? I don't remember taking something that looks like that."

"It's very mild, just an antihistamine, a cold pill. It will help you relax a little."

"You relax! I don't need to. I don't like taking things. And I'm not sick!"

"You can argue if you like, but you know the rule. If you don't take this, the meeting might have to be postponed."

Ed glared without reply at the hand as it opened again.

"Take it, please. This might make you a little sleepy when it starts to work, and if that happens, we need to make sure that you have enough time to take a rest or short nap. So I need you to swallow this down now. As soon as you do, I'll finish the work on your shoulder. You shouldn't be doing a lot of moving around with the cowling open."

Still no reply.

"Is it that important that you'll sacrifice the meeting with your…"

Ed snagged the pill from the open hand and threw it in his mouth; Armstrong grabbed for water and had it at the ready when the choking started. Why Ed still tried to soldier pills down dry, the Major would never know. It hadn't once worked without a problem, but at least swift intervention with water was an easy fix.

Gurgling and wiping the spillage from his chin with the back of his hand was the last significant effort Ed seemed to be up for. As quickly as the fight had sparked his rebellious energy, it was gone.

"Do it," Ed motioned to his shoulder and turned away to wait, head bowed, struggling to maintain his self-control on the brink of the unknown changes this meeting would make in his world.

xxx

Havoc paused at the doorway watching, nervous and torn and fully aware that he needed to set that aside in order to be the calming influence the doctor ordered. Al really needed him right now. But so did Ed; Ed also needed the care that the Major was providing, and what was in progress was one of the vital daily calming routines Gansworth just got though talking about. So he had to be patient for a few more minutes, standing by silently before the cowling snapped closed again. The food he carried was in a small insulated bag; this, the doctor's latest approach at making the process seem more natural and less of an event. No trays or carts to compete for space and disturb the peace by rattling in and out.

"Hey there," he said tentatively.

"Lieutenant Havoc, we've been expecting you. Good to see you back again." Armstrong handled the ID and waved him forward. He had been standing next to Havoc less than an hour ago , leaning against the wall of the briefing room while the Colonel and Dr. Gansworth went over a plethora of instructions, warnings, and updates on the Elrics. The boys were to remain unaware of the extent of effort surrounding this day. They were upset enough without hearing that others were so concerned that they had to strategize and prepare for the event.

No matter how they tried to downplay it and be reassuring, there were moments of uncertainty as to whether this was going to come off as scheduled. The mounting stress assaulted the participants without mercy.

Ed winced, so glad to see Havoc that it didn't make sense, and repelled nearly to the point of anger at the bag. For a moment, he'd thought that the man had come just to see him. But, no, it was feeding time again after all.

That anger didn't make sense, either, because he had to eat to get stronger and they were just trying to help.

The two soldiers waited with cheerful faces and pensive hearts while Ed worked through his internal conflicts, arguing with himself, facial expression paging through several emotional states before finally pulling it together enough to deal with the world outside his head again.

Outwardly, while his expressions changed rapidly and he spoke under his breath, it was already known that this wasn't meant as conversation. Only when he was ready to lift his gaze and focus on his surroundings could they speak with him and get any kind of response.

"You…brought it," Ed rasped finally.

"This?" Havoc held up the bag, setting it on the side table now that it seemed to be okay. "Sure did. Good stuff for lunch today, too, let me tell you."

Ed's eyes widened. Lunch. The meeting with Al was after lunch. This was it. This was the last thing before…

His stomach knotted so hard the pain took his breath away. After this there was no turning back.

"Don't," he caught himself before he started begging them to make it all stop, struggling to stop his mouth from letting fear take the reins. It took everything he had to get control again and shut off that pitiful, frightened sound.

Havoc held out open hands, worried more than ever. "I'm not doing anything, Boss. Just standing here. You tell me what you want me to do. Or not do. Okay?"

Ed tried to concentrate on that sympathetic face until his unruly eyes started shifting right and left on their own, leaving him without a way to attain some kind of composure. Things were boiling up inside and he wasn't even sure what he was suppressing. His body itched with the need to take action and his throat was swelling with words demanding to be voiced; but he couldn't predict what those words or actions might be. It took enormous effort to stay at the helm and stay pointed in the direction that would take him straight into the epicenter of his fractured existence.

"Lad, are you feeling ill? Tell us what's wrong." The Major didn't want to push, but Dr. Gansworth had urged them to keep the lines of communication open as much as possible, no matter how irrelevant or strange the conversation might get. Clamming up, they had been told, would seal off an important vent for the incredible stress the boys were under; and he had emphasized that they were by no means safe as far as Ed reverting to a closed mental state, becoming uncontrollably violent, falling into catatonia, or any number of equally undesirable outcomes.

If it had been the doctor's intent to worry and frighten everyone into absolute red alert over the upcoming event, he had done a marvelous job.

Ed was instinctively pulling the blue coat closer. It further convinced his keepers of the doctor's wisdom in ordering it to be perpetually placing it in arm's reach.

He wanted to say something as he crushed and twisted the material in his hand, as if he could wring out more of its magic, but he wasn't sure if the next thing to come out of his mouth could be trusted. The rough texture and the brilliant color were safe sensory cues to focus on while he bit back and waited, seeking assurance that the internal uprising was past. The room was slow to depressurize and allow him to expand back out to fill in his body and mind, gradually taking back his proper residence and becoming Ed, the mental being, in control of his physical body once more.

He flexed his hands and caught himself starting his power-up mantra without thinking. This was not the right time for that. Not with people staring at him and waiting.

Havoc's hands came into view a whisper away from his own. Like the snap of a hypnotist's fingers, that innocuous motion flashed into Ed's muddled awareness with a hard reset that brought him back to his senses.

"Ed? Is your hand bothering you?"

Ed looked up. Havoc looked so worried. "My hands are fine," he said with a hint of puzzlement, as if he had been sitting here minding his own business and been asked an odd question out of the blue.

He caught sight of the bag and wondered for a moment what it was.

"What is that?"

"It's a special bag that keeps food warm - or cold, depending."

Ed's eyes mirrored his emotions as the significance of the meal blistered up again. Was it lunchtime already? Lunchtime, today, didn't that mean…it was time to see Al?

It would have started all over again, the fear and fractured reality, but for Havoc's sharp perception and quick thinking.

"Hey, hold on Ed. Get up for a minute, come here. We can do lunch later. Let's do this first."

Ed was quick to comply. _Lunch…later. Something else first? Yes! Something, anything that would delay the inevitable just a little longer…_

Havoc produced a strange set of gloves, and Ed was immediately riveted.

"Let's try these on you."

They were soft and overly thick. Irrelevant on the automail hand…but he instantly hated it on his flesh hand. He shook his arm back and forth vigorously; how a hand could feel trapped and claustrophobic, he didn't know, but that was the feeling, and he despised it. He tore at it clumsily and Havoc intervened.

"All right, all right, here, let's take it off. But do you think you can stand to leave the one on the automail? Just for today?" Havoc asked, plainly encouraging him to do so. Gansworth's idea seemed like a good one. Short of removing the automail, adding a softer layer would lessen the likelihood that anyone would be injured by it, should there be slippage in physical control.

"Why? It's too…it's too…" Ed stared at the remaining glove with a grumpy frown while the automail wiggled and turned. "It looks dumb. And I can't stand the way it feels."

"Just on the automail, then. Just the one glove. Deal?"

"Why? That looks weird."

"For a little extra protection, that's all. You don't want to be banging up your automail. Right?"

"You mean, if there's a fight? You think there might be a fight?"

"No, of course not. Here, let's get that one off, too, now that we know it fits."

"You think I'm going to hit him. Or do something to him." Ed seized on an answer. "Do you think I'm faking? That I'm just trying to get close to him to hurt him? I didn't try to do something bad to him! I never wanted him to suffer. Is that what everyone thinks?"

Ed went a step further with that thought and grabbed Havoc's arm, abruptly loud and right in his face. "Does he? Does Al think I turned on him? Is this a test to see if I attack him?"

"Whoa, Edward, no, not at all," the Major said, reaching past Havoc to get a hand on Ed's shoulder.

"The Major's right, one hundred percent. No one even considered that until you did this minute. You're the only who's said anything like that."

Ed faltered. What was this? Was he falsely accused, or just fooling himself, even a little? Did he pose a threat to his brother? They were gloving his hands, bringing in extra guards…

He whipped his head away when Havoc touched a straw to his lips. It was an involuntary reaction to being interrupted while deep in such troubled thought.

Armstrong stepped back to follow as the frustrated Second Lieutenant went for a cloth to mop the slight spill off his sleeve.

"It's going to be hard to get anything in him."

"I agree," Armstrong nodded. "Once he stops listening, there's very little that one can accomplish with him."

"At first I thought the gloves were going to help by distracting him. Now I'm wondering if he's going to let me put them on him again."

"Let me see if I can get his attention. He seems more anxious than withdrawn. Since he hasn't slowed down at all, it seems that a second pill is going to be necessary. "

"I hope it works. I need to get back to Al soon. Things are pretty rough for him, too."

"A second pill will make him very sleepy for the first half-hour to an hour, I'm certain of it. We can't wait any longer to give it to him without risking a delay to the meeting."

"Then let's get to it."

They turned and advanced cautiously.

"You really think I'm going to try to hurt him," Ed sighed heavily. "I can tell."

"It's not that anyone thinks you would try to do that on purpose. It's just a precaution, in case things get out of control."

"I'm in control. I don't need a muzzle."

"That's great! So here, start on some of this food, and I'll put the gloves aside. I'm glad we don't need them after all," Havoc smiled, holding his breath for a moment.

Ed grumbled and reached out to take the offered cup, buckling down to eat to prove his point. They were wrong if they thought he was up to no good. He was pretty sure of it now that he'd thought about it.

Havoc started fishing out more food; for once, the stubborn streak was working in their favor.

"I'm not going to hurt Al," he muttered, chewing hard in annoyance. "You can't just judge me on something that happened back then."

"You're right, that wouldn't be fair. Here, take some of the bread. It's fresh."

Ed snapped a chunk of bread away from Havoc and waved it at him for emphasis.

"It's because you don't listen to me. If you listened, you'd know."

Havoc half-nodded, pretending not to notice that Ed was eating with less hesitation right now than he'd seen him eat in weeks.

"I'll try to do better." Havoc popped open a small can of juice and held it out, amazed as Ed grabbed it willingly. If this was going to be Ed's demeanor, maybe this would go off smoothly. Alphonse would be very happy to see his brother behaving so reasonably.

"If you believed that about me, does he?" Ed chewed and drank in between finger pointing and talking with his hands. Every time his hand was empty Havoc put something else in it.

"I never believed that. And no one thinks that you want to hurt your little brother."

The conversation wound around and around the topic of Ed's intent for some time before he began shying away from the offered food.

"But is he afraid of me? Was he before?" Ed asked, eyes narrowing, starting to wander toward the ceiling. "Is that why he hit me? No, no…I should ask…is he mad at me?"

"He just wants to see his brother. He's not upset with you." Havoc caught the nearly-empty can of juice as it slipped from Ed's grip.

Ed's eyes didn't follow the can; it seemed to pass from his awareness.

He stared at his hands instead.

Right hand. Al was like his right hand. Well, he even resembled it physically when he was bonded to the armor, but that wasn't the main thing…he was a vital half, an important component in his life.

He looked at his left hand, vulnerable, thin and pale. Winry - the name popped into his head. Winry was the other half that made his life whole before all of this. The last trace of home, of heart, of hope that he and Al refused to cut ties with. It was unthinkable that they would abandon her, and it was not just for her sake. She was basic to their lives.

Both hands trembled visibly as he brought them slowly together, clasping them with interlaced fingers. Two halves that made his life whole; yet he was sure that these two halves could complete one another, protect and care for each other, and be whole on their own, even if he were gone.

He nodded, bringing his clasped hands to his mouth to try and still them. They would be strong together if they held on; they didn't need another person, they would be fine as a team. They needed the world to be safe far more than they would miss some fuck-up third wheel. And eventually they would understand just how necessary it was to make this sacrifice in order for that safety to exist once more.

But it would hurt them. There was no avoiding it. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up hurting everyone anyway. At least with this plan, it would be for one last time and for once, they would get a vital benefit from it.

His arms dropped and parted, still quivering. Havoc was talking to him; had been talking for a while, and it just bled into the periphery of his awareness, aided by the careful pressure on his shoulder as the kindly Lieutenant shook it gently to regain his attention, trying to get his addle-brained charge to take the can back and drink the rest of it now that the obsessive fascination with his hands had passed.

Truthfully, the modest medication was starting to have a powerful effect. The cacophonous mix of voices and memories had been gradually approaching a thought-shattering crescendo as the meeting time drew near; now, in short order, they'd become a mere whisper.

Somehow he'd transitioned into a prone position, face buried in the lining of the Major's old coat, relaxed enough to let his need for escape pull him under and away. Havoc checked one last time before moving on and leaving the room to Armstrong's watchful eyes.

xxxxxx

"Hey, Mitch. Off-duty?"

"Off _that_ duty. The Major relieved me a little early. So I got a break before I have to report back to the armory."

"Whoa, what's with the face? Something happen?"

"Nah, nothing but the usual. Man, I hate that gig."

Enfield's eyebrows lifted. "It's a tough one, no lie. If you really have a hard time with it, just let the Major or Lieutenant Hawkeye know. They'll take you off rotation."

"Hard time? It's not that it's difficult." He stretched and leaned against the tree, seeing without really noticing the large black bird roosting almost directly above him, a shadow in the fluttering leaves. "I just think it's crap."

"Seriously?"

"Oh, come on. If I wanted to be a nanny I'd be wearin' a skirt. What kind of detail is this? That guy's not even trying. And why should he? Somebody's there all day and night, pattin' his head, wipin' his ass, beggin' him to eat and drink…I don't buy it. I've heard him when he slips up, talking normal just like you and me. But try to get him to do anything more than lay around in his own piss? What a con artist!"

"Man, what are you talking about? He's been through hell. I don't think he's conning anybody. But, hey, like they said, this duty doesn't suit everybody. I'll take your name off for you, how's that?"

"Oh, no you don't. This is all off the record, just between you and me. I don't like doin' it, but I do as good a job as anybody. The Colonel said this was a priority, and I need my name up there when promotions come around. Don't tell me you haven't thought of that. Hell, you're on the "A" list, you're a lock. I gotta work even harder. If it means I need to wipe his little butt five times a day to promote, it's a weird damned way to go about it, but I'll do it."

"It's not just that. There's a whole lot more to taking care of him than that."

"Yeah, I know, no lie. You gotta feed him and dress him and all that shit. I'm wise. Like I said, I get the job done. No complaints so far."

Enfield frowned; he'd been friends with Mitchell well before they joined up and he was a pretty good guy in general; if not for that relationship, he'd be heading straight to the assignment book and striking him from the list right now.

"He can't really complain like a normal person would, Mitch. He needs a lot of help understanding things, and he needs you to be sensitive to him. If you don't get that, I don't see how you can be doing a decent job."

"Ahhh, that's a bunch of malarkey. Just now, in there, I took care of him and I handed him over to the Major and he's fine. Well, he's as good as he ever is, anyway. It don't make any difference to him if I pet his little head or not. I give him directions and I tell it how it is; and when I have to do the nursing home routine, I get it done. It works. I've done it more than once, ya know. Don't get all up in arms about it."

"I don't know. You admit that you don't like the duty, right? Sounds to me like you'd be better off doing something else. Because, man, if you do screw this up…just ask Hobson. Shit, he might as well give up and get out right now."

"You worry too much, Albert. I take care of Elric exactly the way I'm supposed to. If anybody's gonna screw it up, it's gonna be some bleeding heart that lets him get away with murder and cause some big problem." Mitchell waved a hand dismissively and ground his cigarette butt into the lawn with the heel of his boot. "My breaktime's about up. How about you?"

"This isn't my break, it's my watch, bonehead. I'm on perimeter patrol. I just started."

"Perimeter? I thought you were in the meeting. You're not gonna see the big event?"

"I went to the meeting. I won't be in on it unless it gets completely out of hand. I'm just on stand-by. Can't say for sure when I'll be off duty tonight, though, so if you get too thirsty, I wouldn't wait up."

"Whatever works. Catch up with you later."

The black bird sighed and waited to be certain that all eyes were averted before lofting into the sky. It was a chance stop today, a rest on the way to his current favorite pastime, hunting for sustenance for his offspring.

Interesting, and somewhat useful. By actually paying attention, he determined that the perimeter guards rarely challenged anyone for their identification. They only got serious when someone went near the building.

And the tree provided the perfect spot to eavesdrop on those coming in and out. It wasn't so much the content of anyone's conversation - although, gleaning that Fullmetal was still about as sharp as a sock was worthwhile if not unexpected. It was all about scoping out the scene and learning what holes there might be in security to exploit to his advantage.

Because as soon as Queen Pissy got rid of Havoc, he was going in after what he wanted. To hell with waiting. It would be terrible to waste all the effort that went into making that cell for the wet nurses. Edward could sleep and eat and shit himself there just as easily as here. And what a perfect setting for him to bond with his offspring. They could room together, Ed could do the caretaking for the little one…and any time Envy felt like breaking those lovely bones or choking that ivory throat again, Fullmetal would be right there handy to satisfy those desires. It wouldn't harm the Big Plan, either - one less human to have to track down when the day came for the sacrifices to perform their ultimate function.

He'd make sure of it by confiscating the automail, first thing. The humiliation and helplessness in Ed's expression when he deprived him of the use of it was fantastic. More than anything, he wanted to see the look on that face when it came time to realize who possessed his powerless body once more.

_My pet_, he thought with sharp jealousy. _Mine. _Every day passing by was one less before the day of sacrifice, one less chance to play. One more day that the undeserving bastards in the military roused his undying envy by keeping for themselves one of the things he wanted most.

In the end, they would pay for that. They would all pay, with everything they ever had, and even then it wouldn't be enough.

Snapping back to matters at hand, he dropped down lower to glide over the dark alleys of the city, looking to take out his frustrations on Rage's next meal.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"I hope there wasn't a problem." Al stood, sat, and stood again, eyes on the closed door.

Winry gave the tabletop a firm rap to get his attention. "It's only been fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. He said it would take at least half of an hour or more. Eat your lunch, come on."

Al's pained look gave way to a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"Sit," she insisted. "This might be our last chance to have a meal together for a while. Right? So let's try to enjoy it."

Al picked at his soup, spooning up the broth and letting it dribble back into the bowl.

"You think he's having soup, too?"

"Maybe. It's pretty good. Come on, Al, taste it. The Lieutenant's going to be annoyed if you don't have anything."

"Yeah, you'll make me look bad if you don't do what you're supposed to," Fuery chimed in.

Al slurped dutifully a few times then let the spoon rest back in the bowl.

"I know this is a lot of trouble to put everyone through. I need to let the Colonel know how grateful I am. I probably seem pretty thoughtless. It's just that I've had a hard time getting on top of the situation. That's no excuse, though. No excuse. Ed wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you guys. And I'd still be planted out there somewhere." Al shivered hard at the thought of still being in the ground, but pushed himself past it. "You saved our lives, and you still are."

"You're part of our team. That makes it our honor to help. You'd do the same, right? That's how Colonel Mustang keeps us going. We've seen a lot of tough battles, and not everyone pulled through. So we all made a pledge to do whatever it takes to make sure no man is left behind. Maybe you can't save everyone, but I wouldn't want to tell the Colonel that."

"We still owe you. I just hope that someday, Ed can tell you on his own."

Fuery smiled. "Ed's not shy about telling me anything. He kind of tries to push me around, actually. Nothing violent, nothing bad, don't get me wrong. But I get an earful sometimes."

"He does?" Winry asked, startled.

"Yeah. When I work with him, he's always trying to call the shots. I know he has a lot of issues; but the Ed I've taken care of is pretty stubborn and bossy. That's the reason they don't have me in with him much; he isn't that way with everybody. When I'm there he acts like he thinks he's in control, and that might be good for his confidence; but if he has a bad spell, Doc says it's important for him have someone there he feels more like he can rely on. He might feel too vulnerable being with me if he's convinced that I'm easy to push around."

"So he really does know who you are?" Winry asked.

"I'm sure of it. He doesn't treat me like anyone else. Doc's been trying to figure out if there's something useful about that attitude he gets into when he's around me. If it might make it easier to get him to open up about things, or help him deal with some of the things he avoids."

"Then…he should have a special way of dealing with me, too. Maybe he just wasn't having a good day when you saw him, Win. You'll have to try seeing him again soon. When I get him settled, you come visit right away. So he can know you the way he should."

"Sure. As soon as he's ready, that is. We should leave it up to the doctor."

"He gave me the list of instructions and stuff to avoid, I think I've got it all down. I keep going over it. Before you see him again, you should memorize this, too. It's not complicated. Some of it's stuff I don't think I would have done anyway. Like cover his eyes. Who does that, anyway?"

Winry shrugged, watching his hands crease the paper then flatten it several times next to the forgotten soup bowl.

"Don't touch the back of his neck. First thing on the list. So that's a big one, I guess." Al shook his head.

"It is. That would probably bring everything to a dead halt. It's been a while since anyone's screwed up on that one, so maybe it wouldn't be as bad as it was before, but it's better not to chance it."

"You've been there when it happened? Does this mean, like, just touching his neck?"

Fuery nodded. "It took a few times before anybody figured out what set him off. But, yeah. Anything right back here."

"So, he like gets angry, or scared, or what?"

"It really upsets him, and it's sudden, just, bam! and he totally loses it. And he'll try to get away from anyone that's around, but he's not safe on his own when he's that worked up, so it turns into this tough situation where you have to restrain him for his own good, even though you know it's going to make him panic even harder."

"Maybe it's nerve damage. Maybe it hurts, you know?"

"Um…maybe. There is something, I know there were some skin grafts in that area. It's one of those subjects that he won't talk about, or maybe he can't, but….all the more reason to just leave it alone," the Sergeant said.

"No sudden movements, loud noises, strong odors," Al continued.

"Good thing you showered," Winry snarked.

Al made a face at her before worrying at the paper list again.

"Don't share food without prior approval. Don't change the level of lighting. No unsupervised activity, no exceptions. No pens, pencils or sharp objects of any kind. Don't investigate physical complaints, notify medical staff immediately. Don't suggest activities that have not been previously cleared with staff. Don't attempt to wake him from nightmares. Don't remain in arm's reach during periods of anger or disorientation. Yield to staff and do not argue with them, or anyone, in his presence. If at any time any situation exceeds your comfort zone ask staff for assistance right away unless the need is urgent; if the need is urgent, do not wait for staff. Leave the room immediately and advise them of your issue afterward."

"I think that's mostly common-sense stuff there," Winry observed. "You've got that covered."

"I don't know. Yeah. I just…" Al abandoned the list and raked at his closed eyes nervously. "the wait is driving me crazy."

Al rose suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table.

"Let's go for a walk."

'Hold up," Fuery said, hand up in caution. "Lieutenant Havoc said we have to wait here."

"I know, I know but I gotta do something. I can't just…" Al want to step away and swayed awkwardly, losing balance and stumbling back, knocking over the empty chair in his attempt to use it to stay upright.

He kept to his feet and managed to stop his rearward progress, but he was still weaving sideways when Fuery caught his arm to steady him.

"Al, are you all right?" Winry chirped.

"Oof. Stood up too fast." He tugged his arm away from the Sergeant. "Don't make a big deal out of it. I need to go for a walk!"

"Alphonse Elric, sit down and at least eat your soup!" Winry barked, startling the two men into wide-eyed silence. "Of course you're not steady on your feet! You're not like you were before, you've got a body to feed, so you have to eat!"

Al swallowed. "Gosh, Winry."

"Gosh, nothing. If you stay with Ed you have to remember these things on your own now! I can't be there reminding you what to do!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Al said sheepishly, taking his seat again with Fuery's help.

"Sheesh," she sighed. "That's more like it."

Al watched her take up her spoon as he lifted his, thankful that she didn't have any of her wrenches handy.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It felt good, hanging out together like this. Warm. Welcomed.

He didn't even want to admit it to himself, although it seemed that the constant protesting and complaining wasn't enough to fool anyone. It was a deeply comfortable and cared-for sort of feeling and it was disturbing in that it called forth all the emotions and childish needs he thought he had left behind.

"You looked like you could use some pie and a nice walk through the marketplace, so this is perfect! I need to pick up a couple of things to take home, like the apples for that pie. So of course I expect you to come along to help me haul them home." He laid an arm across Ed's shoulders and pulled him into a brief, chummy embrace.

Ed returned his smile and it was all the agreement the man and the merchants needed to get started. They bantered and bargained and little by little worked their way through the booths. It was fun. It was warm and sunny yet somehow slid into twilight before they noticed it.

"Good thing you have all of this free time. Tell me, Ed, don't you have an assignment right now?"

"Oh, I…" Ed searched his brain, because he was always on some assignment or another, but he drew a blank.

"No?" The spectacled man was getting a little ahead, and he looked back with a smirk while using one finger to push his glasses back into place. "Then I guess our meeting here was good timing and nothing more."

"Wait." Ed struggled with his blank memory. He knew a lot more about this guy, but trying to dig it up made him very uneasy.

"Come on now. We don't want to keep everyone waiting, That would be rude." He turned and began walking again.

Ed stared at the broad back.

This feels so right. I'm so glad to be with him. He makes me feel like there are men that I want to be like when all this is over. Men that aren't afraid to be fathers; men that care for other people and are always there for them; brave and strong…but…

He dropped the bag, ignoring the runaway fruit.

Then why does my stomach hurt when I think of that? This feels so wrong, too. He reminds me of someone, something bad. It's scaring me.

He gasped as bits of memory hinted at the truth. The face, glancing back over the broad shoulder, confirmed that unfortunate hunch.

_No. He can't be gone. I feel this, I feel his presence. He's right here with me, he's really here. I have to be mistaken_.

"Edward. Don't dawdle, son."

"Colonel Hughes. Hold up! You're all right aren't you? Aren't you?"

"Oh. I see. You're not coming home to dinner with me after all? I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed."

"No, that's not what I said! I will, I mean I would. Just tell me you're okay!"

Hughes chuckled and turned, arms outstretched. "I'm fine. Look at me, see? Fine! You shouldn't worry."

Ed stumbled over the dropped bag in an effort to touch the blue uniform, reaching out when the pain erupted.

He's dead. I know he's dead. He's smiling and it looks just like him, but the Hughes I know is dead.

_Murdered._

"I believe you! You're fine, you're alive!" But the shouting was just lying in a loud voice. He knew in his heart what the truth was, and that once he accepted it, this Hughes and his warm, heartfelt acceptance would disappear. "Don't go!"

"Too late. Oh, Ed. You disappoint me. If only you'd tried a little harder to believe, I could have seen my family again…"

He jerked hard and sat bolt upright with a gasp. Major Armstrong had his shoulder, shaking it gently as he shouted his first waking words, crushing the coat in his fist.

"I'm sorry! I never meant for it to happen! I don't want him to be dead!"

"He's not dead. He's just fine. Settle down now, you've had a bad dream, that's all."

"He's not dead?" Ed boggled. "He's not? No…I…I'm confused. But…wait…I thought…"

"You were dreaming, nothing has happened. Your brother is fine. You'll see for yourself, very soon. There's no need to worry about such a thing."

Ed rubbed his face and moaned. The Major thought he meant Alphonse. Hughes _was_ dead, he knew it, and it was his fault for dragging him into his problems. For a moment, just for a moment there, it felt like he really was here, just like before. And it was so cruel and wasteful, the way he'd treated the man like an annoyance when he was alive - because he never really felt that way, he just did it to seem tough, to hide the twinge of jealousy at the fact that some kids had two parents, and that some fathers were dedicated to their children. And to prevent Hughes from giving him that look, that sympathetic, fatherly look that threatened to tear a hole straight through his heart.

"Yeah. Al. Okay. Sorry." Ed didn't correct the Major and kept it to himself instead. Hughes' death was a sore subject among Mustang's men and it would be cruel to bring it up. "It just seemed…so real."

"It was just a nightmare. Better now? Are you still sleepy?"

"I'll be all right." The dream's powerful emotions faded quickly in the bright light of day. He stared into the hallway for a few moments. The medication was a weight dragging at his system, but it wasn't so strong that it kept him from thinking. It was time to face up to his responsibilities. Maybe that was the message from the dream. If you aren't vigilant over those you care about, there were dire consequences. Hughes died alone, without backup, without defense, even though he had so many people who considered themselves to be his friend. Even the grandiose Colonel Mustang had failed to protect him.

Alphonse had been without his protection for far too long. It was time to step up, ready or not. "I think I'm ready."

"Excellent news. We have just a little time. Master Sergeant Fuery is standing by in the hall and he'll let us know how things are progressing."

"I'm ready." Ed repeated. _I should want to see him. I should have been raising hell demanding to see him. _

"Very good."

"I'm ready." He wrung his hands together fretfully despite his claim.

_I should be looking forward to this. _

_I shouldn't have any doubts. _

"I'm good, I'm ready. I'm ready. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. I'm ready. I'm ready. I'm ready…"

xxxxxxxxxx

"No delays. He knows his orders. It's time."

Hawkeye nodded, hand still over the receiver. "There was an emergency…"

"By coincidence, ten minutes before? All right. I'm not saying that I don't believe him. I'm saying that there's plenty of other staff, there and here. We're prepped and ready to go. He has to make his own decision as to where he's going to be needed the most. I've already made my call, this is going off as planned. Tell them, Lieutenant. Then let's go." Mustang's lower lip pressed hard to seal his mouth from saying anything more. He would like to think that Gansworth was above playing some grade-school game of ditch to try and thwart today's plans. It wasn't that he felt that the doctor wasn't vital - quite the opposite - but after listening in on some of the exchanges between Havoc, Armstrong and the boys, it would be far too cruel to make them wait any longer. Not to mention the breach of faith. In the Colonel's eyes, he had something to prove to them, to show them that they weren't just being held here for security reasons. They had to know that they were protected by people they could trust to look out for their best interests.

Hawkeye relayed the message and listened for a moment.

"I understand what you're saying. I trust that you understand that what I've given you are the Colonel's orders. I'll tell him, that's all I can do."

She gently hung up while the voice on the other end was building up volume.

"Displeased, is he?" Mustang growled.

"Yes, sir," Hawkeye said.

"What do you think, Lieutenant. You disagree?"

"I'm just glad you had to make that decision and not me. Either way it's difficult."

"But..?"

"No buts. I guess we won't know until we see how it turns out. I do know that I think it would be unfair to make them wait any longer."

"Havoc and Armstrong have a handle on their issues. We'll find a way to make this work. And if their doctor is just trying to stall, as soon as he finds out we've gone through with it, he'll show up. He might even reconsider and be there on time. He's not the only one who can handle an ER situation. Speaking of which, I should be seeing a report right away if this was really something serious."

"Let's hope it's not too serious."

Mustang and Hawkeye shared an anxious smile and a deep breath, setting out down the hallway to start the final wheels in motion.

xxxxxxxxxx

"It'll work out, Al. Just remember. If things get out of control, we may need you to move on out of the room quickly. If we need to subdue him, the less confusion, the better. We sure don't want anyone to get hurt." Havoc gave Al's tense shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah. How much longer?"

Winry took his hand, trying to be supportive and hide the terrible feeling that Al was about to walk into something really awful. Al's eyes met hers and she smiled sympathetically; he looked grateful for her help, and excruciatingly nervous.

"Any time now. We just need to wait for the word. They'll get him situated as best they can. He's been quieter today, so that's good. Now, Al, remember what the doctor said about staying focused on the goal. I know you're hoping this will mean the two of you can stay together; but the most important thing is to help him grasp the fact that you're really here and alive. Keep in mind what we've told you."

Al nodded grimly. How could he ever forget a story like that? Ed had been in the process of throwing his life away and the Colonel had saved him at the last minute. Despite assurances that his brother was fine, Ed had actively attempted to reenact that suicidal transmutation on more than one occasion since. When he heard about it the first time, his guts had turned to ice. Ed had come so close to doing something like that, and even though they were staying right near to one another, he hadn't even known it. This had to work out. He had to get Ed to let him stay close by his side.

They heard footsteps approaching. Al looked ready to pass out.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. I think so." Al shivered, although it was a little warm in the room.

"Okay, we're ready for you," Hawkeye said, managing a smile of encouragement in the face of Al's clearly distraught expression.

The walk down the long hall and up the windowed corridor proceeded in silence. As they approached Ed's room, the unmistakable voice of the Major grew clearer. It was the Colonel that emerged to meet them just short of the door to silently confirm everyone's identity and gather them for an orderly entrance.

The assembled group was still short one participant, rankling the superior officer. Was it really that person's expectation that they would wait? There would be no more waiting, not unless it was due to one of the boys' inability to go forward. And both of them were here and ready to go, at least, as ready as they would ever be. The doctor's presence was very important, he was to take the lead in orchestrating the meeting, but it was not a deal-breaker. Mustang stepped up, forced to the reins instead, now swearing to himself that if this turned out to be some trick to delay things, there would be hell to pay.

It was time to set those concerns aside and move forward.

"I'm certain that they're coming, Edward, the Colonel will see to it. Just stay there and wait." Armstrong followed Ed's gaze and looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Al appear in the doorway with Havoc, he stepped back. Ed's room was so small…that was good, and bad, tactically. Easy for containment, but not many could be inside at the same time to assist.

Ed jumped off the bed, where he'd been reluctantly sitting at the Major's request, and took two quick strides toward the door, eating up half the distance and stopping just as abruptly.

His eyes narrowed and he stared at Al with a frown as his mind struggled to validate the image. He wasn't sure if he'd expected Al to look like this or not. It did look like him, there was a resemblance, but he was different, too. The harder he looked, the more his vision betrayed him, growing unreliable in focus and causing him to doubt the reality of the moment.

Al glanced at Havoc, taking a deep breath when the officer nodded for him to go ahead and step in, giving Mustang enough room to slide back in as well. At least Ed was still moving, not shocked into zombie land at the very sight of him.

"Brother," Al said, choking a bit on the word from nervousness.

Ed hunched down, dodging as if the word was an aggressive act, a reaction not unlike the one he'd had when they met before. He held still for moment before springing forward to push a hand into Al's shoulder, only to jump back, his hands up and ready for defense.

Al stood quietly, holding still as best he could, despite a rush of light-headedness.

Ed was still in reach. He jumped forward again and grabbed Al's arm, still without a word; the military personnel were the ones holding their breath now. The action was more abrupt and rough than they were expecting. He jerked Al toward him and hesitated, looking back and forth from the forearm he held captive to the wide brown eyes.

Al was brave. He didn't move or make a sound. Ed jerked his arm again, harder, bringing it up to his face to bite down on the pale skin of his forearm.

"Edward!" Mustang started to warn.

"No, no, it's all right," Al said, a touch of panic creeping in. He didn't want them to overreact and separate them. "It doesn't hurt."

Armstrong eased closer, his eyes meeting Havoc's. Each had their assigned man to control, and both were already out of reach, forcing them to move in with caution, weighing the need to poise for intervention with avoiding any move that might drive Edward to panic.

Havoc frowned as he realized what the small, brown ball on the floor must be, catching the corner of his eye. Sure enough, another glance told him that the automail hand was already naked, the soft glove meant to prevent accidental injuries had been stripped off in a flash.

Ed's teeth were clamped down harder than Al let on, and it was quite painful, but he forced himself to hide it.

It seemed to sink in when there was no foul stench or rotten taste. Ed's eyes went wide and wild when he released his jaw and straightened. _I have him, I think I might have him, and there's nowhere to run!_

He mouthed something Al couldn't make out, and before anyone could react, he yanked Al nearly off his feet, switching places with him and backing against him hard, past the end of the bed, until he rammed him into the wall with a reverberating impact.

Ed was all elbows, hammering Al behind him, plastering him into the wall with his back and blocking him from reach by anyone in the rest of the room. The flesh arm was harsh enough, but the automail elbow was bruising and made a loud impact each time it met with a rib.

The officers were moving in, ready to pull him off, when Al began to beg.

"Please, just wait," he said as loud as he was able, taking and fending off blows from Ed that seemed to increase when the military personnel grew near.

"Ed, don't! It hurts!" Al made sure that his plea went directly in the nearest ear. He grunted with the next two hits, ready for more.

Ed stopped his elbows but kept pushing back hard. He had his arms up, near his face but palms turned away to ward off the others.

None of them looked quite right. Havoc was the worst of all, his face from the nose down flickering in and out, slowly revealing a snarling dead ringer for Envy's cruel mouth, jagged teeth and snake-like tongue. The thought of those teeth on Alphonse was unbearable.

"B-back! Get back!" Ed finally gasped out words, frantic and confused. "St-stay down Al!"

Al shook his head, tears of pain welling up. His chin was against the automail shoulder despite the risk, making sure that Ed would hear him. "I'll stay, Ed, I'll stay! Just calm down."

Ed reached back and gripped Al's shirt, allowing enough space between them to bring that flushed face into focus.

_It's him. I think it's him_.

"Al." Ed's voice was strained, twisted with shock and upset. "Hang on, I'll take care of this!"

Al's lightheadedness started to get the better of him and he swayed. Ed reacted immediately, taking a bigger handful of shirt, jerking him off his feet and throwing him onto the bed. But instead of focusing on his brother, the inertia shifted into a pivot to face Havoc and Armstrong, who had stepped in closer while his attention was momentarily diverted.

Ed hissed and struck out at the suddenly looming figures. The strongman's quick reaction back and away narrowly dodged the force of the blow, just glancing across his cheek with the wrist joint of the automail. A cut from the thin metal edge raised an instant welt, and by the time the Major pulled back a step, blood was gathering, beginning to make a trail down to his determined jaw.

Mustang had been watching closely and concentrating, despite the confusion, trying to get a feel for Ed's reactions. Without the doctor there, his guidance was going to be crucial. He guessed at the source of this combative behavior and stepped in to try and defuse it. "Back off. Everyone. Step back. Be still."

Everyone obeyed without hesitation, leaving Ed's flurry of activity to go on in stretched silence.

Ed pulled at the blanket and threw it over Al, then pawed up the pillow and put it on Al's stomach. He grabbed for another blanket, feeling for it with his hand, warily keeping everyone in sight and his body between Al and the supervising officers. The quiet and stillness in the room caught his notice, and his movements slowed. The fact that he'd heard Mustang's voice finally sank in. He slid the precious blue coat up on the pile a little hesitantly, his belief that its magic would act as a shield wavering.

The Major's face and expression would confirm whether he had anything to fear and he sought it out desperately. But instead of reassurance all that met his sight was blood , and the pressure in his head soared. His eyes locked on the red flow, dividing his attention, pushing him to act while making his movements clumsier still. Armstrong effectively disappeared and all that he could see was disembodied streaks of living crimson.

Where did that come from, who brought blood into the room? Why did they bring blood into a room with his brother? What was it going to do? It wasn't a lot, not yet, but it always grew before it revealed its motives.

Ed gaped and began pawing harder to cover his brother's vulnerable flesh body. Al wasn't metal, he was full of blood now, were they going to try and take it? Didn't they know that would kill him? Who were these people really, they weren't people at all, were they? Not with those razor-sharp, jagged teeth.

Ed's brain chopped sideways at each element of the situation, losing familiarity with the people and his frame of reference. The introduction of 'live' blood into the room told him that a bloodbath was the next logical step, and that the thing presenting that blood was conspiring to start the carnage.

As the extra blankets went on, nausea swelled in Al's throat, a deep, familiar feeling of sickness growing in his stomach. When Ed ran out of bedding to paw onto him, he started on the contents of his wardrobe. A pair of pants, a t-shirt; the pile on Al was getting ridiculous.

It would have been laughable, had it not been for the way it felt from Al's point of view, and Ed's obvious distress.

"He's not hurting you, is he?" the Major asked carefully, dodging back as Ed threw a wild kick in his direction.

"What's he doing?" came the muffled yet clearly distraught reply.

"Al, hang on. I think he's just trying to protect you," Havoc called back nervously.

"Major," Mustang called, motioning to trade places, sensing some of Ed's focus. "Go. Get that wound cleaned and covered up. Then get back in here."

"I…I know. I'm okay," Al called out, but his muffled tone was unconvincing.

"Ed. Look at what you're doing to Al." Mustang used a stern tone, trying to break in to Ed's obsessive behavior.

The attempt to hide Al slowed to a halt as he froze to watch Armstrong leave and went through the process of understanding that the threat of blood was gone, ordered away by the Colonel's commanding presence. Mustang seemed to be his usual self and the things in the room obeyed him, but that reassurance wasn't enough to bring the situation back to rationality.

Ed backed up against the bed, placing a hand on the pile of clothing and blankets, unsteady in his shift to face his superior.

Al was starting to breathe hard. He tried pushing his way out of the smothering pile. He looked up in shock as his head emerged. Ed was reaching for his face, trying to shove him back under, and he was unwittingly using his automail arm. The metal connected with a hard, painful impact.

"Stay down! You stay, hide, don't move!"

Al suppressed the urge to cry out and tried to turn his head away. Ed withdrew his hand and crawled up on top of the pile, surveying the scene with this potential Al immobilized and protectively wrapped.

"Ed…please…" Al panted. "Look at me. Ed."

Ed's hand skimmed down and smashed his mouth shut.

"Okay, what now?" Havoc muttered.

"Ed needs some time to calm down. As long as Al can maintain, we…"

Al made a pained sound even though he'd been holding his breath to try and keep it in. The automail hand on his mouth was pressing hard enough to cause his front teeth to cut into the inside of his mouth, and Ed was exerting more and more pressure, not letting go.

"Spoke too soon," Mustang sighed. "Plan B, Lieutenant Havoc."

Havoc nodded and stepped forward, committing his presence into the zone that would bring Ed in reach. "Hey, Ed," he started softly. "Let's be careful, hm? Move your hand. You're hurting Al."

Ed scrambled forward to the floor and pulled his hands up, bringing everyone into full alert.

"Get away from Al! Get back!"

"Come on, Ed, it's me. You know me. Here, you can check. I'm no threat to you or Al." Havoc's hand stretched out, open and palm up, close enough to feel the damp heat of Ed's panting.

Ed jerked forward, ready to clap palms together instead. This close, the vision of Envy gave his heart a mighty stab of terror before fading and letting the Lieutenant's true image dominate again.

"Don't do it Ed, come on buddy…"

Ed wavered, and Havoc took a chance, moving quickly, capturing the hesitating flesh hand with his. Ed startled and lost his balance, dropping back on the bed, halfway onto Al. The tumble back left him off-balance, shoving and kicking, struggling to get free, still taking the towering figure as a threat to them both. The tall lieutenant regretfully applied a firm suppression hold to prevent both alchemy and further attack, steeling against the fight.

Ed blew up, his need to protect Al and his reaction to capture exploding into trapped fury.

"Damn it," Havoc growled under his breath.

Armstrong was already back, a swath of silver duct tape grabbed from the maintenance room hastily plastered over his wound to hide and close it. He stepped up to help, between the two of them holding Ed safely still. Al crawled free and gripped Havoc's shoulder, trying to get close to Ed, his voice rising in distress.

"Let him go! He doesn't like it! He wasn't hurting me, he wasn't! Ed, are you all right?"

"Al, back off," Havoc said. "It looked like he was going to try alchemy. We can't risk it."

"Please! Please!" Al's voice was suddenly moving away. Havoc barely caught the motion when Ed saw the same thing.

"Let him go, don't touch him!" Ed's frantic threats were meant to be backed up by action, the futility of his effort adding to the spiral of panic and desperation.

Mustang, picking up on Al's waning self-control, had taken the boy and was carefully removing him from the struggle. Now Al, hearing Ed's escalating cries, could not control the urge to pull away to reach his brother. Hawkeye stepped up and got in Al's face, talking calmly in spite of the concentrated chaos in the small room.

"Al. He needs to settle down before we can let him go. You know that."

Al's heart was pounding, he didn't realize that tears were streaming down his face, his chin was bloodied and his cheek shiny with bruising. Yet in his mind, things had been all right, if only they hadn't intervened and upset Ed so completely.

"Stop, what are you doing? You ruined it! It's all ruined!" Al cried, unable to stop his fruitless struggle.

"Calm down, Al, it's all right, nothing's ruined." Mustang's tone was steady despite the effort it took to restrain his unhappy captive

"Let me go! Don't make me leave!"

"Al!" Ed was screaming his name now, fighting so hard he wasn't bearing his own weight. "Leave him alone!"

"Please!" Al's voice nearly lofted into a scream as well. "He needs to know I'm here! I won't leave him!"

"Do it." Mustang nodded to Hawkeye, and Al caught the flash of a needle in her hand.

"No! Don't! Damn you! No!"

Al's outcry went straight to Ed's heart, terrified that the torture of his only sibling was about to begin. Adrenaline shot through his body and he wrenched out of Havoc's grip, screaming in fierce effort. Armstrong held fast, Havoc managed to retake his hold, and Mustang pulled Al down with him as he dropped into the chair by the door, forcing his arm to be still and allowing the Lieutenant to administer the drug.

"It's okay, Al," Mustang said forcefully, making sure he could be heard above the din. "We aren't going to knock you out. It's just to calm you so no one gets hurt."

Hawkeye advanced on Ed with the second hypodermic, wincing at the state he'd worked himself into, saliva smeared across his thrashing, reddened face. As close as she had to get to perform her task, he didn't behave as though he knew she was there, completely obsessed with getting free to help .

Ed didn't become calm right away, but his vocalizations tapered off and he grew less agitated. At the first release of tension tears seeped freely accompanied by eerie, wailing moans of breath, and Hawkeye, already returning to him with a wet cloth to clean his face, tried soothing him gently. As soon as he was stable enough to focus again, he locked his sight on Al and jerked his head in an effort to keep him in visual range. She was getting in his way, and he resisted her efforts, but not so that it was difficult to keep him held securely.

Even though the drug swept away the false visions and promptly allowed the occupants of the room to resume their normal features, Ed's acceptance of them came trickling back slowly.

Chemical, physical and mental fatigue dovetailed with the fledgling return of trust until he stopped struggling for the most part. Havoc and Armstrong cautiously sat on the bed with him, flanking him, relieved to manage him gently instead of forcefully when they had to discouraged his attempts to rise, attempts that lessened by the minute.

"You have to let him go," Ed rasped. He wasn't afraid of being held by familiar hands, but when anyone touched Al it still sent stabbing waves of panic through his chest. Everything about Al was explosively alarming. The need to protect him was excruciating. He had to lay hands on him and hold him to keep him from disappearing, to make him real, even though touching him was deeply terrifying, too. He had to get him in reach in case things were not truly peaceful, as they seemed now. The reality five minutes ago was just as convincing as this one. There was no guarantee that this was the reality to be believed in.

"Let me," Al said brokenly. "Let me."

Mustang stood up with him. "Lieutenant, push the chair over there for me."

Hawkeye shoved the chair over by the bed. Mustang relocated there, resetting Al in his lap, retaining control.

This was more like it. Ed was still straining to get to Al, but he was only given enough leeway to stretch out a foot and touch Al's leg, to connect to him however slightly. Instead of screaming, he was breathing…actually, more like gasping for air, out of breath from struggle.

"Al…are you…all right?"

"I'm fine, I…"

"I won't…let…anyone…hurt…I gotta…let me go, I gotta…"

"We're not going to hurt him, Ed. None of us would hurt Al," Havoc said quietly.

"No, then why are you holding me…let go!"

"Ed. Ed." Al's voice was a sad plea. "Don't fight anymore. I think I can stay with you if we just stop fighting."

Al felt heavy and droopy in Mustang's lap.

"That's good Al. Perfect. That's exactly what he needs to know." the Colonel said, infusing his tone with encouragement despite the growing conviction that this had mired down too quickly to get the results they all had hoped for.

"Al," Ed croaked, voice spent from overuse. He shook his arm to free Havoc's grip from his wrist, but then grabbed his hand for support. Mustang had Al and he was the one person who had not shown any suspicious traits. Havoc seemed normal now, too, in fact, it suddenly felt much safer to be tucked up against him. "Wait. Is it?"

"It is," Havoc assured him, squeezing Ed's hand carefully. "It's Al. And he's right there, and he's fine. Take a good look."

"Crying," Ed said with sudden sorrow. "Al's upset. I made him cry."

"Ed. No. I'm tired or something," Al sniffled in protest, trying to stop, but the tears on Ed's face hurt too much. "I'm the one who made you cry."

"Shut up! I'm not." Ed blinked, trying to get his blurry vision cleared away enough to see properly. "It's just hard to see if it's you."

"Of course! Brother, believe me, please."

"Might be," Ed breathed the words to himself. He leaned against Havoc, his hand shaking in the warm palm. "I always hurt him. I always hurt him. Look at him. I did it again."

"Please." Al looked over his shoulder at Mustang, leaning away tentatively to get closer to Ed..

Armstrong released his grip cautiously. This freed the automail arm; for the first time since the struggle, Ed glanced at the mustached face and recognized who was there, vaguely puzzled at the tape on his cheek.

"It's all right, Edward. If I move and let your brother sit next to you, can you both behave?"

Ed's whole body quaked with an involuntary shiver, but he nodded without hesitation.

He started to grab for the Major when he rose, then caught himself and pulled his arm back, confused and growing nervous again. He did want Al to sit by him, he did. But he felt a huge rush of fear again, and he had no idea why the thought of being next to the real Al made him feel that way.

_I'm not doing anything right, this isn't how I was going to handle this. I'm messing it all up, I can't get it all straight, it's so confusing…._

"I'll stay right here, okay?" Havoc whispered to him, not to prevent eavesdropping, but to keep things subdued and calm now that they finally were. After the flurry of screaming and fighting, the quiet was like a blanket, perpetuating itself.

Ed took a shaky, irregular breath, using the automail hand to swipe at his blurry eyes.

When Al sat next to him, his heart froze.

Al couldn't restrain the impulse; as soon as he sat on the bed, he grabbed Ed and hugged him hard.

Ed was shaking all over, overwhelmed with the thought that it was really his brother, flesh and blood, and not a dream or a nightmare.

"Ed," Al managed to squeak. He forced himself to release his hold and let the barest bit of space come between them. "Just let me sit with you. Don't make me go."

Ed had been staring at the top of Al's bowed head, frozen but for his clearly visible trembling, a shocked but otherwise unreadable expression on his face. When Al released him and their eyes met, he leaned away, a slight weight against Havoc's sturdy frame once more.

"Hey," Havoc said softly. "You're all right, aren't you, Ed? This is a good, you're doing just fine, take your time. You've got someone there who cares about you. Be careful with him, okay?"

Ed shook his head at that gentle admonition, comprehending that he was seeing slight traces of red for the first time. Hurt. He had to have caused it, it was smeared on his automail and on Al's face.

"No," he moaned. _This is bad, worse than bad, I think it's Al's blood on the automail. Just look at the marks and bruises, they're all over his skin, and he's so pale._

"It's okay, Ed. Tell me what's wrong."

"No no no no no." Ed pulled his hands up, to get them away from Al, to make sure he wasn't still hurting him somehow. He grabbed the automail wrist to hold it still against his chest, feeling as if it were at risk of acting out on its own.

Havoc suddenly came to understand, signaling to Hawkeye to get her attention. Al's damage was minor, but as with the Major, they had to be alert and cover it quickly. The sight of any amount of blood had disastrous potential.

Al could only watch and worry. Ed's expression was one of extreme distress; but it wasn't that horrible look of fear beyond the ability to reason that he'd seen during their last encounter, just before Ed lost consciousness. In spite of the rough start, things really were better in some ways; he was more receptive, less traumatized by his presence.

"Brother," Al said, ignoring the swipe of washcloth on his chin. Their eyes met and held, and the sensation was that of free fall, stomach left far behind as they plummeted into the truth of it, the air knocked out of them from the impact when it hit their very core.

This is my brother. This is Ed, not just seeing me, but knowing that it is me, no matter what his mental state.

This is Alphonse. Alive. Restored. The sparkling, light brown eyes were full of life and emotion. Not dead. Not damned. Alive.

They were locked in that stare for some time.

It was Ed's turn to slam into Al with a fierce embrace, hugging him with a desperation that equaled the grip he received in return.

He wanted to say a million things but his voice deserted him, so much so he couldn't even swallow.

"It's okay, Ed, it is. I'm here. It's finally all right now."

Even though he couldn't see his face as they embraced, he heard the heartache in his brother's voice. It really could be his brother's voice, without the echo of cold metal. The shock of it was almost unbearable, no matter that it was something he had been willing to die to experience. All he could do was hang on and try not to lose all his senses.

Al hugged back with care, patting and checking and making sure he wasn't doing something wrong. But the way Ed was clinging to him, he dared to hope that they were going to be okay now.

Havoc stayed put, watching closely - things were nowhere near stable enough for him to move out of easy reach, and Ed was not objecting to his proximity like before. He looked up and saw the faces of his fellow officers, rapt at the scene before them.

Mustang's normally inscrutable expression was nakedly worried and wrung out, in a way that Havoc hadn't seen since the hours after they found Fullmetal, when his life spent days hanging by a thread.

They showed no sign of wanting to move apart. Havoc leaned forward to get a better look, and things were just as they appeared. But his motion caught Ed's attention; he threw a hand out to push Havoc away.

Ed tried to tell him to get back, but it only produced a fit of dry coughing.

"Ed, have some water." Havoc tried to offer the cup from the bedside table. He was shoved again, nearly spilling it. He reached behind Ed unseen and handed it to Al.

"Ed, drink some of this," Al said, clearing his throat, the task at hand giving him a break from the emotional onslaught.

Ed shook his head, and a touch of inspired déjà vu hit Al.

"Drink it for me or I'll pour it down your pants," he said haltingly, as if reciting from memory. His unsteady hand held the cup up to Ed's lips.

Ed froze for a second, an odd expression crossing his face. He placed his hand over Al's and drank, never breaking eye contact.

"You remember! You can't doubt that it's really me now, right?"

Ed wasn't paying attention to the cup anymore as he stared at its holder, and Al was able to get him to drink all of it while he was distracted.

"It can't be," Ed managed now that his throat was willing.

"It is. I'm just sorry for everything. I'll make it up to you, you just have to let me."

Ed gripped him close again, pushing his forehead into Al's shoulder, trying to get it put together in his head so that it would take root. Warm arms were holding him just as tightly now, and he could hear breathing, provoking him with the cross-image of Al in the armor, in a body that made no sound unless it was in motion.

In spite of the tranquilizers, he was still trembling uncontrollably. It worried Al, who definitely felt the growing influence of the drug they had given him in every pore, feeling a more and more numbed and drowsy as things grew calmer.

"It's all right. You don't have anything to be afraid of. I'm here now. It's all right," he said into Ed's ear, quietly taking in the sensation of his brother's soft blond hair against his cheek. Ed re-gripped in response, trying to hold tighter still, shaking even more noticeably, hard enough now to be seen clearly by the officers, and now by his doctor.

Gansworth hurried in, tugging at his white coat to straighten it as he strode directly to the Colonel's side.

"You decided not to wait." He didn't try to hide the irritation inherent in that statement. "Status?"

"So far it's about what I expected. Some of it has been a little rough," Mustang said, ignoring the thorny glare and moving back to join him. "We had to give them the shots."

Gansworth nodded dourly, taking in the scene with an appraising eye. He tamped down his anger at being forced to come in after the fact, facing total reliance upon the others for the vital details of such an important event in the boys' treatment, details he likely wouldn't get much of until later. "Even that doesn't appear to have been entirely effective."

"Not for Ed. But it did the trick. We might have had to call it without the medication. But it's under control now."

"His body is so used to the drug that I adjusted the strength, given the stressful nature of this. Not a dosage I dispense lightly. How much worse was it?"

Mustangs voice dropped even further, to make absolutely sure the boys couldn't hear. "He was hurting Al; and he was setting up to perform a transmutation of some sort."

Gansworth bit back on yet another surge of resentment. They should have waited. This could have been a true disaster. It still might be. "Any slippage out of real time?"

"It didn't look like it. I didn't see any phasing out. Seems that we're not going to have that issue."

"The risks from this are far from resolved. Let's not count our chickens yet, Colonel."

"Ow, Ed, easy on the arm, come on…" Al was wiggling, trying to pry the automail hand open as it had gradually closed down harder and harder on his arm.

Ed reacted to Al's movement away from him by gripping even harder, escalating his brother's squirming effort to get his arm free.

Gansworth took a chance and came forward, moving up even with Havoc, who had just started to urge Ed to let go. After hearing Mustang's statement, he took Ed's action as further aggression, suspecting a purposeful attempt to inflict pain.

"Edward. You're hurting your brother. You don't want to do that." Gansworth came right up to them and blocked Ed's vision for just a second with his hand. As he expected, Ed released his brother to bat the hand from his eyes, and Gansworth pulled his hand away quickly in reward.

They had tried placing cool, wet cloth over Ed's eyes in the infirmary, and had discovered that he could not bear to have anyone else cover his eyes. Gansworth assumed that there had been some form of blindfolding or hooding involved in his torture, considering the severity of his reaction. While he hated to exploit his patient's fears, in this case, it would help them avoid other, more unpleasant means to make him let go, means that may have taken too long to stop him from really hurting Alphonse.

As it was, the marks were visible on Al's arm already.

Ed was confused again, not sure whether to touch Al or not, shying away when Al went to get close again after rubbing his sore arm for a moment.

The urge to grab Al and protect him warred with the urge to hide from him because there was still a part of his gut that insisted it could not possibly be him. It felt like the world was splitting in half, and unable to decide which way to go, he was at risk of being pulled apart.

Al reached out again, and Ed moved away with a jerk.

"Slow. Slow, Alphonse, give him space," Gansworth said. Ed was watching the both of them, uncertain of Al now that they were no longer touching, and defensive towards the doctor after that move covering his eyes.

"Ed, what do you want me to do for you?" Havoc asked. "What do you need?"

Ed jerked again, rubbing his face hard, starting to reposition as if he were going to stand.

He couldn't think any more, the wits to judge whether this truly was Al were nearly lost. He should just embrace him, take the chance, because it was almost unbearable to think otherwise.

But if it wasn't Al, and he let himself get caught up completely by the enemy in disguise, there would be no hope of ever re-drawing the seven symbols and resurrecting his brother. It would be hammering the last nail in his brother's coffin if he let himself be tricked. That feeling hit him hard, he'd been in this very predicament before, although pinning down the actual memory was not possible at this point. Eventually, a fake would slip up, and he would have to stay sharp to catch it. They would get lax, come to trust him not to do something so rash, and he could try the transmutation again.

He smelled right. But the creatures might have gotten wise, and learned to mask their scent. Nothing was certain right now. The doctor was behaving strangely, everyone was staring at him…

Al's hand pressed flat against his solar plexus with gentle pressure. Ed gasped and drew away, sucking in a sudden breath.

"Ed, easy, please. You'll hyperventilate. And your pulse is like thunder, even here." Al was gaining more focus under the calming influence of the sedative. Ed stared down, still worming under the warm touch.

His flesh hand covered Al's and he pressed hard, trying to fully understand why that hand was there. It wasn't Al's soft, chubby hand from his memory, but he guessed that hand no longer existed now, whether this was Al or not.

But he had used an odd phrase from their childhood, when Mom used to pay Al a penny if he could get Ed to drink his milk, and Al had discovered with childish glee that the only thing Ed found more repulsive than drinking milk was having it poured down his pants.

How would a homunculus know something like that? Al would never tell such a thing unless they forced him to in some awful way. If this was an impostor it must have been a cruel, ruthless interrogator.

Al had been talking to him - well, at him, really, because he'd been too lost in his thoughts to listen - and Ed tuned him back in, turning to face him suddenly. It was Al's turn to flinch back, falling silent and unsure as the fevered, bright amber eyes drilled into his. Bravely, he didn't try to pull his hand away.

Havoc had been moving up close again and stopped.

The stare seemed to turn hard and aggressive; Al began to feel challenged. Ed was still provoked. The last thing they needed was the added element of anger.

"S-s-second Lieutenant H-havoc," Al said, riveted to his brother's piercing stare. "He…I don't think he…"

"Are you afraid of me?" Ed hissed, unable to resist at the obvious sign of weakness.

"Unh!" Al _was_ afraid now, there was nothing friendly in Ed's voice or his narrow glare. "N-no, I'm not."

"Maybe you should be."

"Ed. Ed, stop it." Havoc stepped up and Al reached for him without breaking the stare-down.

Ed's mindset swung wildly, from angry to fearful to believing, until his mind threatened to crack in a million pieces, groaning from the strain.

"I'm not afraid of you, brother!"

Al, too precious to leave unprotected for a moment…or the most despicable of enemies existing only to prevent Al from ever taking a peaceful breath again. Nothing in between. His hands stretched open in acceptance and then snapped tight into fists each time he struggled with the polar opposites. If he guessed wrong…the pressure was enormous. The problem was…if he accepted and was wrong, everyone would pay, not just Alphonse. No one else was capable of recognizing the threat. The only creature in room they were wary of was him.

And on yet another level, he wanted so badly just to cling tightly to his brother and believe, it made his heart scream in agony.

"I'm not afraid of you, Ed. I'm just afraid for you!"

If this was a fake he had to kill it now, and he wanted to kill it like nothing he'd ever wanted to hurt before.

His inner conflicts raged until they blocked his ability to take in any more clues as to his brother's authenticity. He had been staring into Al's eyes, but now Al had moved, and he hadn't. His stare was locked on nothing, unseeing. The aggravated gesturing stopped and his hands drooped down, half-open.

After several minutes of staring blindly, people around him began to move in cautiously, touching him, passing a hand before his eyes, talking. It didn't get through.

"Oh, no. It happened. It happened again," Al let Havoc pull him away, stunned.

"Shhh, Al, it's all right. Let Doc have a look at him. This is a lot for him to take in all at once." Havoc let Al lean back against him, keeping a supportive arm across the boy's chest that would also serve to restrain him quickly if he changed his mind about staying away from Ed for a bit. As much weight as Al was leaning back with as they stood, Havoc surmised that he was getting very tired from the strain, too, coupled with the pull of being sedated. He wasn't ready to suggest they leave the room - that would still be a major fight at this point, he was pretty sure.

Gansworth moved next to Ed, taking Al's spot, and felt for the pulse in his neck, then laid a hand on his forehead. His pulse was galloping, he was too warm, and his eyes were quite dilated as they stared out.

The doctor spoke to him anyway, describing his activity as he felt for pressure points and tried relaxing his neck by supporting his forehead, working with firm, precise points of contact until he began to feel weight against his hand from the release of the muscles locking Ed's head bolt upright.

Once he had Ed's head tipped forward and resting against his palm, he leaned down and looked again. Ed's eyes were still open and unfocused, but half-closed, and the expression was rather blank. He wasn't happy with that; it was more withdrawn, not less.

"This process was worth a try, but I'm afraid this is far too complicated to be resolved in this way, all at one time." Gansworth carefully took Ed and laid him back, straightening him on the tangled bedding, considering what would be best at this point.

Ed was not communicating, but he wasn't unconscious, either. His pulse was elevated, and he was still in deep mental turmoil. If he didn't come back to them soon, it seemed that he might need to be sedated further. The doctor didn't want this state of severe conflict to last too long, but had to weigh that against the risks of adding to the already high level of medication in his patient's system.

"Maybe a new voice?" the Major suggest from his observation point, relegated to the doorway to make room for the doctor.

"Yes, that's worth a try," Gansworth said, waving him back.

Now the tiny room seemed far too full. Mustang stepped out into the Major's spot in the hall.

Armstrong knelt by the bed.

"Edward, lad. Come on now. I have the salve for your shoulder. It's time." He had taken the tube from the cabinet on the way past, and set it on the bed. He reached up and lifted Ed's gray t-shirt up and off the automail arm, glad it was stretchy so he could do it with no help from Ed. He wasn't actually due for this until tomorrow, but the routine was harmless and the first thing the Major though of to try.

So far, the only reaction was Al's, a twinge of jealousy, seeing for the first time how Armstrong performed the task that had been his exclusively for years before.

The Major began his work, asking for feedback, making a small bid for attention to lure Ed back as best he could.

When he'd finished with the front and asked about turning him over, Ed's head moved slightly, and he began to blink.

Gansworth was surprised at how deeply relieved he felt upon seeing the small signs of revival.

A rush of upset replaced the artificial calm, and Armstrong was right there to grab him as he bolted upright.

"I'm here, it's me," the giant alchemist reassured him, keeping him on the bed.

Ed was struggling with his next move, his face crawling with strain and confusion, and he gripped the big man far too hard, just as he had with Al.

But unlike Al, it did no damage to the rock-hard body, and allowed him to harmlessly vent his stress and tension.

"That's it, just hold on tight, as tight as you need to," Armstrong said, reaching over and dragging his old coat across the bed onto Ed's lap.

Ed suddenly felt grateful for the safe harbor, and fully recognized the Major for who and what he was. Letting go was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

When the Major's large hand began to pat his back, he was able to let out the breath he had been holding, as if it were safe to breathe if the Major deemed it to be.

For the moment he couldn't see Al, and he had to admitted that he wasn't trying to. Wrapped in trusted, protective custody, he didn't want out yet. He wanted to soak up the feeling of security until he had his bearings back again. His grip got tighter, and the Major responded in kind, the feedback adding to his relief.

Al was getting nervous again, and Havoc felt him pulling away now.

"This is good for him, Al, we need to wait," he whispered. Al whimpered involuntarily, and Havoc's heart went out to him. "We said it might take time. He will figure it out, but he has to come to understand it on his own. We can't just force him."

"I know," Al's voice quavered softly. "It's just so hard."

Havoc turned him and gave him a full-on hug, to offer him a little privacy; Al took it, burying his face in the broad chest to hide the emotions he was struggling to hold back.

Gansworth shook his head, the pressure on both boys seemed like far more than they should be subjected to for any length of time. He considered the consequences of defying the Colonel's orders. Maybe Mustang had seen enough to understand the complexity of the situation, the inordinate strain and trauma.

"I think this might be a good stopping point for now," Gansworth suggested.

A small protest broke from Al's lips, but he caught himself and quieted. Of course they needed to do this in stages. He'd been so certain that getting here meant staying here, and never having to be separated again. Those hopes were just too high. It was so painful to think of having to leave this quickly, far more than he'd imagined, almost equal to the pain of total isolation. He wasn't even sure that they'd accomplished that most important feat, convincing Ed that he was really alive.

Ed made a noise, though, too.

He tried to break from the hold he'd been retreating into and nearly succeeded.

"No, don't take him away."

Gansworth took a hard look at both of them. Without having to see it, he sensed Mustang's willful, commanding stare, asserting the weight of his original orders.

"You're both getting overtired. That's not good for either of you."

Al nodded miserably. Fighting this would only upset Ed more, and he knew they would never listen to him.

"So if he stays, it has to be quiet in here. You have to calm down, Edward. Look at me. Someone will be here with you to make sure that everything is all right. So there's no reason to worry. If you change your mind, or if something upsets you, we can address it."

Al gasped and looked up, dumbfounded. They would let him stay after all?

Ed took to mouth-breathing, something Al had seen him do many times before when he was trying to calm himself after exertion and upset.

"We can do this, Brother. We can." Al urged, hoping that his words didn't provoke the doctor or Mustang. "I want to stay here. With you. I've…"

Al held his tongue long enough to survey the faces of those empowered to make the decision on whether he would stay or go. Mustang looked grim but not angry; Havoc and Armstrong wore worried, sympathetic expressions; but the decision to keep trying came upon seeing the doctor nod in solemn encouragement.

Ed's noisy breathing was the only clue to his status; Al wished he would lift his head up and look at him, even just for a moment. But maybe if he did, he would go into that weird frozen state again.

"I've really missed you. I just want to be here and help. Everyone…" Al caught himself again. He had been going to express that he should be the one to help now since he had done nothing and everyone else here was doing so much for so long. But Ed would feel bad to hear that it had been such an effort to maintain them here, so that wouldn't be wise. "…everyone has been looking forward to seeing us together again. Everyone's helped. But nobody wants this more than I do."

After a few moments of silence, Ed wheezed a reply.

"That's…not…true."

Al looked to Dr. Gansworth immediately for direction.

Gansworth nodded and gestured; Ed was starting to interact reasonably again, so Al needed to respond and keep him engaged. The more the two of them dealt with one another in a workable manner, the more likely it was that they would find some sort of comfort level with being together.

"It is true, Ed. I wouldn't lie to you. You know that."

"It isn't true. You don't want it more than I do. You just don't know." Ed swallowed thickly, struggling as hard as ever to get his equilibrium. "I'm trying. I'm trying, I'm trying."

Armstrong waited, torn between gathering Ed up and applying every trick he'd learned to calm and assure him, or maintaining watchful waiting, leaving him to weather the situation until Gansworth or Mustang ordered a halt to the proceedings. His orders were to provide support while interfering as little as possible. But Ed had yet to let go of him entirely; switching hands and places on his person to hold onto, keeping in contact ever since they had been back in arm's reach of one another. It confirmed his baseline belief that this was not just unsettling, but deeply threatening and frightening despite the fact that it was just his little brother.

"I know! Everyone knows this is hard for you! I didn't mean it like that. I just meant…I just meant…Ed, I'm here. I'm here, with you, I've been waiting so long for this. I can do anything, anything you need me to do, anything you want me to do. Tell me what I should do. Tell me so I can make this work."

Gansworth held up a hand. Support, pledging love and loyalty, offering help - all good. Applying pressure by demanding responses to difficult if not unanswerable questions - wrong approach.

Too late to undo the damage from the last words.

"I don't know what you should do!" Ed's tone of voice went from strained and baleful to emotionally charged with frustration and despair, ramping up in force and volume just that quickly. "I should know but I don't!"

Feeling like the conductor to some psychotic symphony orchestra, Gansworth used another hand gesture to indicate Armstrong should increase his involvement.

"Lad, it's fine," Armstrong said, retrieving and re-draping the coat again, as he did each time it slipped off. "You're doing just fine. He's just letting you know that he will do anything you ask. That doesn't mean you have to ask him to do something in particular right now. I think he's worried that you'll hesitate to ask if you do have a need. That's all."

Gansworth nodded, appreciative of Armstrong's perception and powers of empathy.

Al seemed reluctant to speak now, and Ed's silence was hard to interpret.

"Edward, this has been a very good start. Alphonse, I think you'd agree that we've made a lot of headway today. We do have to start thinking about what we want the result of this meeting to be. For one, I think that these meetings could be a regular event."

The floor was finally coming back into focus. Damned if they hadn't shot him up again, on top of all of the confusion, forcing him to use up valuable energy struggling to stay focused. Despite the blind terror that raged in his belly, he had give in to the belief that this really was Alphonse, someone who was fully his responsibility.

Lifting the enormous weight of his sedated skull, Ed tried hard to really see the boy next to him in detail. It made him dizzy, and all but deafened him for the moment.

The doctor's lips were moving and making noise, and the Al image seemed to be talking, too. His face was too pale yet bright red at the cheeks, like the result of a recent wind or sun burn. His hair was Al's hair, his eyes were older and sadder but the life in them was undeniably familiar.

His flesh fingers left off from twisting at the uniform coat and crept up to his own lips, then stretched out, slowly, until they met with Al's mouth, just touching the lower lip with a soft tremor.

Al held his breath, shivering at the light contact. _Don't move. Don't scare him off. _

Ed's hand fell suddenly, dropping back into his lap.

"I'm so…cold. Help me…stay awake."

"This has been exhausting, hasn't it? Excellent effort, both of you. We certainly have something to build on for our next meeting."

"I can't stay after all?" Al whispered. "Please?"

"Al," Gansworth said, placing a hand on Al's shoulder. "It would be best to give your brother some time to absorb all of this…"

The hand he'd placed on Al's shoulder flew off on it's own accord…or so it seemed, until Ed's hand replaced it.

"Don't touch him!"

Gansworth raised his open palms in surrender.

"Easy, now."

"Don't!"

Armstrong was trying to get his attention with the coat and a simultaneous return to rubbing his back. It was dirty pool, but getting him to let down enough to succumb to the drug and fall asleep was more of a possibility than it had been before.

"I can stay here and I can be really, really calm and quiet and I can sleep on the floor or even share the bed if that's what he wants. Just let me stay. Please," Al begged.

"Hold onto him," Ed groaned, fighting a losing battle with the drugs and the Major's knowledge of his weak spots. Any minute now, he wasn't going to be a part of this debate anymore. Any minute now, he was going to have his throat laid bare, helpless but for the defense of others.

"Watch him for me. He can't leave. Please Major. Keep him here."

"Alphonse will be fine, just fine, don't you worry," Armstrong rumbled softly.

"Promise me. Promise he won't get away. I can't …I can't…you have to watch over him." Ed struggled to keep the Major's clear blue eyes in focus. He'd never known him to be deceptive while looking him directly. It wasn't a matter of staying awake; he wasn't going to be fighting this fight much longer. But it spoke directly to his aching belly as to just how worrisome and frightening losing this fight would be.

"I promise, Edward. You have my word."

"Fullmetal," Mustang said quietly. "Your brother will be watched over and protected. He has been all along. And I'll see to it that you're together as much as possible now. You have my promise on that, as well."

Ed twitched, startled by the suddenly clear auditory input; his shrinking awareness had caused him to forget that the Colonel was in the room.

Ed nodded clumsily; relying on those promises, he summoned all of his courage to hold out an open hand; Al gripped it before anyone could second-guess the wisdom of that move.

"I promise I'll stay," Al breathed. Touching his brother even this much, was unreal. The urge was to grab him, to save him, as if he were drowning or about to fall from a great height, but the situation called for such restraint and caution.

Ed was staring, blinking with great effort as he poured the last of his strength into matching the face with the voice.

"Uh…"

"I've got you. I'm gonna be right here, any time I can. Ed…" The hand in his desperate grip went soft and heavy; Armstrong was moving Ed like a rag doll to settle him down to rest. Al rose and moved closer so he wouldn't have to let go; but the doctor placed a hand over his, and gently pried him loose.

"No." Al's voice shook. "No, don't make me go! I won't hurt anything. I'll sit here, I'll be quiet as a mouse!"

"Shhhh. Let's all slow down a little," Gansworth said, motioning Havoc back into play. "I'm not asking you to leave right now."

Al clutched his head, only vaguely aware of Havoc's hands on his shoulders, guiding him across the room to take the conversation out of Ed's earshot.

"He's not even sure it's me, is he? He's not sure of anything. He's so scared and confused and…helpless."

"And that's a huge contrast with the daring behavior your brother used to exhibit. It's a shock for you to experience first-hand, Alphonse, but remember we have discussed this. Not unlike a broken limb that can't support weight until it is healed, Edward's sense of safety and security is still very much damaged and we've only just begun the healing process. It cannot yet support him in the face of stress and uncertainty. It should improve with time and treatment but at this point he is very vulnerable and it doesn't take much to overwhelm him."

Hawkeye and Mustang shared a look in response to Gansworth's glance.

Mustang cleared his throat.

"Colonel. Your have some input?"

"Arrange it so that they can stay together now. My men will assist. Quarters here are tight, but it's temporary, so as long as you can cope with it, Alphonse, I support your request. That about sums it up, Doctor."

Gansworth bit his tongue, overruled in the end, fully understanding that he was without option. There was little to do but nod, confirming that the message was received and the order would be obeyed.

"As you wish, Colonel."

"Very good. Lieutenant Hawkeye and I will be heading back to my office. That should ease the congestion. Make use of the call button if you need me."

"So I get to stay?" Alphonse squeaked in disbelief.

_Such an easy thing, to toss off a command like that on the way back to his desk,_ Gansworth grumbled inwardly.

"You heard the Colonel's directive. There's no rush. I want you to sit for a minute and take this in."

"Can I sit down there?" Al asked breathlessly. "Right there, right there next to him on the edge of the bed?"

"You can try it. If you're careful and it doesn't disturb him, there's no harm, I suppose."

"Let me help," Havoc said, taking an arm and supporting some of Al's weight to prevent a jarring end to his unsteady descent.

"Major," Gansworth said. "Given the situation we shouldn't dawdle in setting up Alphonse's necessities. We don't want a lot of disruption once Edward is awake."

"The cot first, sir?"

"That's correct. Bring everything in the order we discussed. I think we've planned appropriately."

"Brother," Al whispered, leaning to get a closer look. Ed's face was turned away, and his hand hovered over the fair hair, wondering if, like his own, it wasn't quite as soft as it had been the last time his human hands experienced the texture of it.

"Alphonse," the doctor cautioned. "that might wake him up. Give him a chance to rest and regroup."

"Even though he's been shot up with that stuff?"

"Yes, even though." Gansworth kept an eye on his patients and checked his watch. It was early yet, too early to put them to bed for the night. "You're going to be spending a lot of time together. While he rests, would it help to take a little walk? You can venture back to your quarters and stretch out for a while."

The response was immediate. "No. No way, not after all it took to get here."

"Take advantage of this break, then. Let the Lieutenant take you down to wash your face, use the restroom, get situated. That will give me a chance to set up the room so that it's workable."

Al hesitated.

"You'll both be going back and forth to use the facilities, it's not like you're leaving at all. Ed's used to it," Havoc said. "Come on, if you're worried that he'll wake up while you're gone, the sooner we go the better."

"I'll stay here, too, lad. Edward will be fine," Armstrong nodded.

Before he realized it, Al was taking slow, numbed steps out into the hall with Havoc by his side. They passed the folded cot as its wheels rattled by in the opposite direction under Fuery's careful hand. The Sergeant's smile was lost on Al's unfocused gaze, but Havoc returned it with a shrug to indicate that the outcome of this effort was yet to be seen.

xxxxxxx

"If you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem pleased," Armstrong ventured quietly.

Gansworth's grim expression deepened for a moment, then he sighed heavily, trying to let it go.

"It's very difficult orchestrating treatments on an arbitrary timeframe. It goes without saying that having something this important occur when I'm not even there to witness it, much less participate in it, is not the ideal approach. I would have expected better judgment to come out of this much preparation and effort and concern. That's all. I'm simply looking out for their best interest."

"Of course. It didn't seem to go all that badly."

"One can hope that the worst is over but I see no evidence to support that. So please do your best, Major, and don't let your guard down."

"Yes, Doctor."

"I'd like you to fill me in. I was unavoidably detained in the ER; wretched timing."

"The ER?"

"Yes. One of the sentries got caught in a rockslide, of all things. Partially severed limb. Time is of the essence in these things. There was no way it could wait. This, on the other hand…well…let me just say that I am truly in need of your observations, Major."

The doctor retrieved the clipboard, bringing a sheet of lined paper to the front and holding it out with a pen in businesslike urgency.

"Every detail and impression you can think of, Major. Please be sure to include as much as you can recall, especially statements and commands from those present and to whom they were directed. You should have time while the Lieutenant and I arrange things in here and work on getting Alphonse settled. Be sure to secure the pen when you're through." This was a good first start at gathering releasable documentation to support a transfer of the boys from the Colonel's supervision, should it come to that. The Major's observations would have no doctor-patient privilege. From here on out, this would be a good tactic to take - require daily narratives from non-medical personnel on each shift.

This was prudent. It wasn't just resentment at being constantly overruled. There had to be checks and balances. Medical and psychological issues did not respond to command simply because someone of rank believes that they should.

Once there was enough evidence, the staff at Central could bloody well take over and deal with it. Maybe find a good therapist for Mustang as well.

Gansworth locked down the cot wheels with a resentful snap.

Xxxxxx

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Mustang asked, loosening his shirt collar as he tossed the heavy jacket on the coat hook. "At ease, if that's possible. Sit. Just leave the door open."

Riza slid down into the chair, choosing the one turned toward the open door to keep watch for anyone that might come looking for either one of them. "Sir."

"Out with it."

Her smile was wry and mirthless. "The doctor is pretty upset."

"He'll recover. You think I was out of line?" He paused, hand on the back of his chair, about to pull it back from the desk.

She didn't answer, and Mustang's eyes narrowed in surprise. Her expression didn't give anything away.

The silence stretched on long enough for him to realize that it meant something. He gave up on hovering and sat with a sigh.

"All right. I'm not one for guessing games. You don't like how I handled something, some of it, all of it?"

"Colonel. You know I have faith in you." Her eyes shone softly as she stared out, still not looking at him. "I have faith in everyone that tried to make this work today. I think it went as expected. It was expected that it might be awful. And most of it was."

"You think it was too soon?"

"No. I think that, no matter when this happened, it would probably be like this or worse."

"Well then, what is it? You're not telling me what your problem is."

"My problem?" Hawkeye shook her head slowly. "I'm just concerned, that's all. I know you and Gansworth don't see eye to eye. But there was a something else there today. I don't know. Something about his attitude. I just think that we should be a little more cautious."

"I irritate the hell out of him. Sometimes on purpose, which is stupid. You're right, that needs to stop."

"He's under a lot of pressure."

"Everyone is."

"Everyone else is trying to get their friend and comrade back on his feet so that he can stand by their side. I'm not saying that he doesn't care about Ed. But if you can imagine his point of view, his life would be much easier if Ed and Al weren't in it."

"Lieutenant, if I thought for one minute that he was going to hurt them…"

"No, of course not. But he doesn't have to hurt them to remove them from his workload. It's just an impression I got. When he came in and the two of you started talking, his attitude…I don't know. I'd say I'm just being paranoid, but I learned long ago not to ignore my gut feelings."

"If it's your gut feeling, I'd be a fool to ignore it. I'll keep a closer watch. Maybe I'll have Fuery go back over his latest reports to Central." Mustang's head sank against this clenched fists, propped up on tired but impossibly tense elbows planted on the desktop. "I can't really say it was a complete success."

"They're together. Success enough for now, isn't it? Everything in Ed's universe is something he had to accept and get used to. He didn't take to all of it at first, like his room, his clothes…look at the way he had to accept the lighter automail. Even if he can't really understand what it means to have Al back yet, he can get used to having him as a roommate."

"Hm." Mustang nodded, more relieved than he expected to be at hearing Hawkeye's conservative optimism. It put a little of the wind back in his sails. He straightened and looked at her delicate profile, warmed with gratitude for her support.

Gansworth didn't have anyone for support, and he'd never taken that into account when he'd refused to ease the man's mind on many occasions when it would have been just as easy to do so. His innate resentment for anyone purporting to judge his mental health was to blame, but it was hardly an excuse.

She was patting the arms of the chair and Mustang knew that meant she was growing restless; as expected, she shifted, getting ready to rise.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Go if you like."

The dismissal was unnecessary; she was already up and at the doorway before he got it out of his mouth.

"Not sure it's so much that I like. It's just that I can see the message light blinking and I'm sure they're all for Havoc. Maybe this Solaris will turn out to be The One he's been waiting for."

"Subject to his commanding officer's approval," Mustang snorted, flinching at the stack of requisitions she dropped on his desk on the way out.

xxxxxx

"Miss. I'm afraid I'm going to have to have a word with you. May I see your identification, please?"

Winry frowned but complied.

"Your badge is coded AER, Miss Rockbell. Are you aware of that?"

"I guess." She held her elbows, trying to pay attention and take this at least somewhat seriously.

"You know that means Authorized Escort Required?" Enfield asked firmly. A civilian had no passcode and posed a greater threat of identity fraud. He'd seen her, met her, even heard about her in briefings. But it didn't give her the freedom to roam around making holes in the security net. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me to the security desk."

"I just came out for a little air. I'll go back in a minute. All right?" A hint of exasperation crept into her otherwise calm demeanor.

"I'm sorry, I can't allow that until you've been cleared through Security." He waited a moment, and when she didn't comply with his motion for her to move along with him, Enfield took her firmly by the upper arm.

"Hey! Hands off!"

"I'm going to escort you to Security. How we get there is up to you."

"Bozo," she muttered, jerking out of his hold but coming along.

Enfield's flawless professional demeanor faltered.

"You're his good friend. You should understand that this is necessary," he chastised. It wasn't his place, but after dealing with Mitchell and hearing a few other comments, he was fed up with the people who were ready to let things slide just because they were inconvenient. How anyone who had witnessed Ed's scarred body and ravaged mind could allow the slightest lapse in the diligence that kept him from further harm was beyond him.

"I just came out for air!" she snapped.

"Great line for an intruder slipping onto the grounds to gain entry into the building."

"Is that the excuse? I think all you're really doing is watching us. Keeping us in. Not keeping people out. Who's going to walk into a military base, it's like sneaking into a prison!"

"Keep moving. No one's stopping you from leaving. You're free to go. But if you want back in that building, this is how we're going to do it."

"No way," she grumbled to herself, planted on the ugly gray steel chair. Enfield's exchange with the staff at the Security desk was brief. He wasted no time in relinquishing her to their supervision, back out to stand watch as quickly as possible.

She watched him double-time it away from the glass doors back in the direction of the building Ed and Al were in - until her view was obstructed by a very large and unsmiling MP.

She looked up…and up…and up until she met his dark, piercing eyes, swallowing hard and forcing a sheepish smile.

"This her?" he growled.

The man at the desk nodded. "All yours. Take the second room."

"I've got some questions for you," the big man said, pointing to a doorway past the desks.

"I need to see Lieutenant Hawkeye!" she blurted, moving as directed to avoid a confrontation.

"So you weren't aware that she 's busy?" he asked with slight satisfaction, as it confirmed that she was very suspicious indeed.

_Shit, _she thought miserably. _Ed and Al, you owe me, you jerks. When you're all better, I'm going to pound you both._


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Havoc nearly collided with Armstrong, both of them reaching to pull the coat up to Ed's chin at the same time.

Al's patience wasn't wearing thin, although that's how it appeared. It was his anxiety that was building up to a barely tolerable level as he traded off between hovering over his sleeping brother and fidgeting with the cot covers for the bed he would be occupying in the very same room tonight.

"Sorry," Havoc chuckled.

"Quite all right," Armstrong replied.

"Is he going to sleep a lot longer?" Al asked.

"Perhaps," Gansworth said from his vantage point in the doorway. "Do you have everything you need squared away now, Alphonse?"

Al turned and opened the small cabinet; his stack of folded clothing, a book, and his clipboard full of paper were right there. The pen and pencil had been replaced with a crayon and a stick of charcoal. A cloth pouch held his basic toiletries.

"My stuff's all here." A bit of red caught his eye on the next shelf; his fingers brushed the material, confirming his suspicion. Ed's cape.

Before he could pull it out to look at it, Havoc cleared his throat and stopped him.

"Al, leave that there, okay?" He met Al's puzzled look with a smile.

"Edward can get upset if someone moves that particular item," Armstrong explained.

"So it is his cape." Al looked back, tempted to touch it again. There was a corner of material protruding from the middle of it that had a rougher texture, stained a rusty brownish-red. He recognized it just as quickly despite the change in color. "Wait. And is that..?"

"From your armor."

Al gasped. "If I ask, do you think he'll let me look at it?"

"I don't see why not, once things are settled."

"Alphonse," Gansworth broke in. "Now that we have everything prepared and we're a little more settled, I'd like to talk to you for just a bit."

Al rubbed his arm sheepishly at the red mark from the injection that was still at work, lingering in his system. "Am I in trouble?"

"No. No, of course not. You were doing your best, weren't you? That's all anyone can ask. I'd just like to take advantage of the opportunity we have here for some dialogue. This hasn't been easy for you. I'd like to hear how all of this felt from your point of view, while it's fresh in your mind."

"I guess."

"Then you'll talk with me alone? We can slip down the hall and I'm certain that these gentlemen will alert us when Edward starts to stir."

"Leave the room? No, I don't want to. I need to stay here."

"You have expressed, very clearly, how important it is to stay here with your brother. I understand you, and I support you, and I assure you that there is no change in plan as far as rooming with Edward. But we have to be prudent in how things are done, and it's important that we always think of him in that respect. There's no assurance that he can't hear us on some level. It's really best for both of you if we have this discussion, and it's best for him that we do this somewhere else."

"I don't know…"

"Hear me out. I know you're concerned about leaving the room. Then let's agree to limit this to a short timeframe. Thirty minutes at most, and I will ask Lieutenant Havoc to come and escort you back immediately if your brother shows any signs of waking up during that time. You have my word. After all, when he awakens, I need to be here as well."

"Oh man." Al rubbed his forehead, ready to concede without a fight but not sure if it was due to the solid logic of the argument or his own fatigue and drug-softened will. At least it would take Ed out of reach, and he wouldn't have to spend so much energy fighting the urge to grab onto him and shake him awake just to hear him say his name again.

It was probably a combination of a lot of things that weighed in favor of this, he decided as he nodded reluctantly.

"Excellent decision, Alphonse. Very mature and appropriate. We're going to leave you two gentlemen here to watch over Edward. We'll be in Alphonse's room, so be sure to come straightaway if he starts coming around."

Havoc raised an eyebrow as Gansworth took Al by the upper arm to steady him on the way out. Was the doctor equal to the task if Al got out of hand?

Armstrong seemed to read his mind.

"Not to worry, Lieutenant. Fuery has been standing by, stationed in Al's room, just in case.

"Ah. Good. Don't know how I missed that detail." And that would mean Winry had someone to talk to while she was waiting to hear how things went, Havoc thought with relief. He had wondered how she would fare with all of the waiting and worrying, especially if she had to do it alone.

"Let's try putting the cot along that side and see if we can get a little more room." They occupied themselves with arranging and re-arranging the extra cot, chairs and side table while keeping a sharp eye on the softly snoring young man.

xxxxx

"Just call Lieutenant Hawkeye! What is your problem?" Winry shouted back, unfazed by the interrogation-style bark of the security officer.

"I'll decide who I…"

"I said call her!" Winry was now getting cross-eyed with anger. "Nothing I say to you makes any difference! I don't know any of these military things you're asking me ! I don't have any of your answers! So just call her already!"

"Will you just calm down?" the exasperated officer asked. "I told you, ma'am, your fingerprints are being matched. Once we have the results back, if you're telling the truth, there won't be any problem."

"I can't believe this! I need to get back. She's just right over there, right there in the next building!"

The door opened and the man who had watched over her from the desk came in with a bemused expression.

"There's someone coming from the Colonel's office to collect you, Miss Rockbell."

The presiding officer didn't skip a beat.

"Everything cleared?" the officer asked.

"It came in as a missing person inquiry. Seems she slipped out while Master Sergeant Fuery was otherwise occupied."

Winry blushed, her lower lip protruding with embarrassed belligerence.

"There was no reason why I had to just sit there!" she protested, but given the outcome of her little defiant stroll, it sounded lame even as she said it.

"The Master Sergeant may need a refresher in security procedures if he was unable to explain them to you in a way you can understand. And he may be looking at some consequences if he failed to explain it at all," the officer said dryly.

She wasn't up on the hierarchy of all of the military ranks, but it was clear to her that this guy had more stripes and stuff on his coat, and that poor Fuery was in trouble because of her impulsive actions.

But before she could utter the first excuse to try and mitigate the damage, her escort had arrived.

Falman's solemn countenance ghosted through the outer office and its stark furnishings, clearly familiar with the layout.

"Hey Vick, you about through busting her chops?" Falman asked evenly.

The interrogator all but abandoned his menacing demeanor, shaking his head and breaking into a wry grin.

"Aw, really? You sure got me this time. I should have known this was one of your set-ups. Missing person, huh? I better get some high marks, this went right by the book, even with those big blue eyes of hers!"

"Oh, you have nothing to worry about there," Falman replied evasively. "Looks like it was all by the book."

"In the middle of high alert status, too. I'll be darned. Never suspected it for a minute."

"Keeping everyone on their toes keeps me on mine. You guys are tough to fool."

"Nice job, Miss," her former oppressor said and offered a hand; she took it with her fingertips, nearly speechless at how gently he shook it.

"Uh…thanks?" she said..

"Yes, she's good at what she does, for sure. Well, that's that, I'd like to stay and do a wrap-up but we actually are on high alert. We need to get moving along. Keep up the good work, gentlemen. Stay alert, I'll be trying to come up with something even better next time."

"Sure, throw it at me. Come by when you've got more time. You too, Miss."

"Uh…"

Winry found herself being lead out the door by the dour-faced man, but before she could finish thanking him, Falman set her straight.

"Just so you understand, you were never at risk, there was nothing out of line about having you stay and go through his usual routine. The reason I stretched the truth a little was to cover Fuery's butt. He could have been in a lot of trouble for losing track of you. But no one was going to harm you."

"I wasn't scared," she protested. "But I don't understand. Why did he just suddenly turn into a nice guy?"

"Major Vickers is a nice guy. He's also great as head of Security, which means setting all that nice aside and being very serious when there's a breach. Even more so when he's performing interrogations."

"But…"

"I do the security audits for the unit; test them for readiness and write their individual evals. Usually something simple, like tripping an alarm. Once in a while, I'll set up a situation for them to react to and then observe. He saw me and made an assumption. I hate to say it," Falman sighed, "but I'm going to have to give him an advisory for releasing you without the rest of the usual processing. He did it just because he knows me. So he failed to follow through on the protocol after all."

"But…darn it. I guess I got a lot of people in trouble. I'm sorry."

"You didn't know. But now you do, so we can say this won't happen again and call it even?"

"Thank you, yes, I promise. I just want to get back now. I really want to know if there's any word on how Ed and Al are doing."

Falman held the door to escort her back in the main building, vouching for both of their identities at the entry check.

"We'll go check on things right after we stop by and have a word with Lieutenant Hawkeye."

_She knows about this already? She sent Falman?_ Winry swallowed hard, steeling for the suddenly embarrassing prospect of facing her.

xxxxxxxxx

Just a few strides into the trip down the hall, Al stopped. Gansworth saw the hesitation, the slightly panicked pose; and rather than try to haul his patient along in spite of it, instinct told him offer a bit of solace instead, in return for greater cooperation both now and later.

He only meant to make minor physical contact, to face the boy and place his hands on both shoulders to give them a reassuring, arm's-length squeeze with his hands. This would not only show Alphonse some positive encouragement, but test his reaction to being touched, as an aid to figuring out the best way to get him to start moving again.

The last thing he expected was Al's misinterpretation of his lifted, outreached arms. Al was upon him in an instant, bowed head pressed into his chest, leaving him no decent option other than to go with it and pretend that a full-on hug was what he had intended to offer all along. And while he was slightly startled, Al hit him with another curve.

"Thank you," Al said, his voice indeed warm, grateful and yet painfully insecure. "I'm so glad you're not angry at me."

For just a moment, he was left speechless. So much time was spent throughout his career trying to convince reticent patients to accept his care and guidance, and always it seemed that there was no real faith in his earnest desire to help them. In a "buyer beware" world, people were understandably skeptical, trying to be good consumers as they judged the quality of his work and second-guessed the accuracy of his wisdom. He was performing a service and rarely did he or his patient lose sight of that aspect of the relationship, whether in his former private practice, or now when the bill was always on the house. The boys here were just boys, but even they had countless reasons to treat him warily. Yet this was such a vulnerable, honest expression of trust and dependence.

"Alphonse, you're welcome, but you needn't thank me. I'm not going to be angry with you." His hand mysteriously decided to find its way to the back of Al's head and apply gentle pressure, giving the tousled hair a smoothing stroke as it passed on the way to the broad back to pat firmly but gently for a few moments. Al fairly nestled into his hold, bringing the situation very close to his discomfort level.

Transference, reference, modeling…his brain flipped madly through the various reasons people thought they had genuine emotional ties with the medical personnel that treated them. It happened all the time, a common occurrence, even though he hadn't really experienced much of it firsthand.

He was one of the lucky ones, the kind of physician who easily maintained that wise separation between doctor and patient, almost without thinking. That is, until the case of these boys…

He could explain the Elrics' behavior. But his own was a much deeper mystery. Because every time one of them responded to him by reaching out, it kept tweaking his emotions ever so slightly, so slight he had been successful in his denial of personal feelings until recently. They were patients, and he had to strive to hold them somewhat as objects in order to make the proper decisions about their care. There was far too much emotion and wishful thinking driving their guardianship already. Someone had to maintain objectivity, no matter how likeable and tragic and brave these vulnerable young men might be.

But he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that they had somehow managed to get under his skin despite his best efforts to the contrary.

He gently released his feigned embrace, easing the separation by holding Al's arms and taking a half-step back.

Al blushed brightly, a little overwhelmed with the relief of letting down his defenses. It was okay now because Dr. Gansworth was really on their side, everybody was, and his gratitude would have fairly gushed out but for the uncertainty of the outcome of all of this. He had been suspicious and difficult and even nasty at times, and the doctor was always there holding out an open hand without passing judgment, ever there to tend to their wounds.

"Let's move along out of the hallway, shall we?"

Gansworth was guiding him along again and he went willingly, hoping to show that he was serious in his appreciation by behaving sensibly and wishing to cooperate.

"Maybe I can see Winry for a minute, too?"

"I'm sure she would like that. I think it's best that we have some time to talk just between the two of us, though."

"It wasn't too bad. She could probably hear about it."

"Well, let's see." Gansworth pushed open the door, expecting that Winry and the Master Sergeant would be surprised to see them.

But the surprise was all his. No one was there.

He dismissed his twitch of unease, annoyed with himself. The base was secure. They had him jumping at his own shadows now. There was no question that paranoia was sometimes quite infectious.

"We've got the place to ourselves," Gansworth said with satisfaction after a quick visual inspection. It seemed that there was suddenly more of Al's weight to support; they'd arrived none too soon. "Sit, son. Easy now, right here. The chairs might be a little tippy for you."

Al dropped on the bed with a grunted "Thank you."

The doctor secured one of the chairs for himself and settled in facing Al.

"Let's do a little deep breathing to get you focused. With my count. It's all right, you don't have to sit up. Go ahead and lie down if you prefer."

Al only waffled for a moment before sticking with his upright position.

The steady, firm voice gave the instructions that walked Al through the deep breathing exercise; it flowed naturally into the warm-up questions, a tactic meant to lessen his resistance and self-consciousness.

"I truly apologize for arriving late. Can you tell me what I missed?"

"What you missed." Al sighed. "I walked in the room and he started out kind of all right. I think he knew me, I just think…he didn't trust me to be like I should be."

"Uh-huh, I see. And did you recognize right off that he had a trust issue?"

"Well, I don't…no, wait. Yeah. He jumped at me at first, I think he was testing right off to see what I would do."

"That must have been worrisome."

"He startled me, that's all."

"Can you tell me what happened next?"

Al was shaking his head, looking off at nothing as he tried to concentrate. "Not exactly."

"You can't remember?"

"I can, I just…things happened so fast, it was so confusing. One second I'm like right here and Ed's sort of got a handle on things, then, you know, he's yanking me around and trying to fight everyone else to keep them away from us."

"Ah. Well…remember how we talked about his motivating factors. We said he could become extremely protective and possessive, and that it was a very real possibility that he would be willing to take things to the point of violence. Did you recall that at all, was it in mind when things went as they did?"

"Everyone was trying to help but it was just making it worse and I really lost track of what I was trying to remember to do and not do. He…at one point he like pushed me down and started throwing all this stuff on me, blankets and whatnot, and it was…I mean, you know me, I can't even stand pulling the covers over my own head…" Al's fist was rapping his sternum in half-conscious memory of the 'heart beating out of your chest' feeling from that claustrophobic situation.

"That's sounds very distressing."

"It was. I took it, though. I just toughed it out and tried to talk some sense into him." Al raked his fingers through his hair, watching the door. He thought he heard someone coming, but it must have been his imagination.

"Try not to be concerned, I assure you that they'll come for us if need be. Go on, Alphonse. Please. Since I wasn't there, I really need to get a sense of what happened. Now, I saw that Edward had to be medicated. You, as well. Let's look at that. Can you tell me what caused Colonel Mustang to decide it was necessary?"

"Well, I…I mean, things were tense, you know, they were…so much was happening, one second he'd be all right, then he'd be trying to fight. I admit it, I lost control a little, too; see, the Colonel, he grabbed me and he pulled me too far away to help and they were actually holding Ed down. And, I can't…I can't believe they wouldn't listen. He was screaming and all he wanted was for them to let me go, at least that's what I heard him saying. We're both like, just let us go, let us help each other , but they wouldn't. How were we supposed to be calm with all of that?"

"That was a difficult situation for you to be in. Of course it was very upsetting. But eventually, you did end up doing well enough to gain the Colonel's permission to stay. Was there a positive effect, then, when the medication was administered?"

"It was ugly when they did it. It was awful. Ed was all red, he'd already screamed himself hoarse. I hate it too, I was so afraid it was going to put me to sleep right then." Al's face was starting to reflect the emotions of his story. "I'm thinking, they're knocking me out, and here's Ed, he's in terrible shape, he needs my help, he wants my help…I wanted to fight but I just…well, I lost it a little. I did. I saw that needle…damn it. I thought, it's all over if I can't stop it."

"And that was the Major?"

"You mean, giving the shots? It was Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Smart move on the Colonel's part, Gansworth conceded. Highly unlikely that Al would resort to violence against the lady; that left the Major, Havoc and Mustang free to handle the necessary strong-arm manipulation.

"So now. We've established that the actual injections touched off considerable turmoil. Moving forward from that. After the medication, what happened?"

"Ed, he was so wound up, it took a long time before it did anything to him. Or maybe it just seemed like a long time. It was so hard to watch and not be able to do anything. Then, when it finally hit him, it maybe calmed him down a little, but mostly it just knocked the wind out of him. He started shaking so hard…and I think…I'm pretty sure that's when you came in. Yeah. I remember. I was thinking that I was so glad you were here; I was sure you could figure out how to help him if he got to shaking any worse."

Gansworth nodded, pleased to hear a vote of confidence in that statement. "I see. From there on I have my own first-hand observations. So all in all, what were your main impressions of the session as a whole? Was it a success in your eyes, do you feel that we are pursuing this in the right way?"

"I want to make sure I'm there when he wakes up. I don't know if he'll figure it out right off, but…I'll call it a success when he understands that I'm back and I'm going to be there with him every day. As long as we keep at it he'll come around. I'll just keep at it. He's starting to understand. He's hard to reach but I know I'll do it."

"Alphonse, I feel that you're being truthful. But it's a very surface-y kind of truth you're giving me. I think there's a lot more going on inside of you, thoughts and feelings that we need to bring out."

"I don't know, maybe. But not now, it's too hard to get into all that. I need to keep my focus on Ed."

"Now is the best time, while it's fresh in your mind. We are talking about Edward's situation, so it should still fall within your need to concentrate on him. So to get back to it…during all of this…were you aware of Colonel Mustang's participation?"

"No, I don't know, I think I have to stop this. I need to get my mind straight so I'm ready . He could wake up and we could be starting all over. You said he might not remember much, and I'll bet you're right. He was there, but he wasn't there, you know?"

"That's the issue, Alphonse. I really don't know. You have me at a disadvantage. Particularly if you won't share more of your direct experience. Remember, I only saw him after most of the activity was over and Edward was sedated. We don't have a lot of time, so please help me to help your brother. I'm only asking for your cooperation here for a bit longer."

"But…sorry. All right. Direct experience. We didn't really get the chance to just look at each other, or talk, or anything. But it wasn't because I wouldn't do it. Ed was so all out there. Man, it's hard to explain. He wasn't just a wild man or crazy, not anything like that, but there wasn't a time when he could even halfway maintain and really talk with me. Ugh, how do I put this in words? It's like…you can have an argument, or something, or you can be scared and be blurting out whatever, like, it could even sound like nonsense and still, there's some level of understanding…you're going back and forth, it's still two people having this exchange, playing off each other. Does that make sense? But we didn't get there, not even close. I tried. I kept talking to him, asking him questions, but we never had the give-and-take. I never got that response."

"I hear you saying that, while he was expressing himself in some manner, he seemed unwilling or incapable of holding a conversation with you."

"Don't say unwilling. You're wrong. I don't think that he didn't want to. He just couldn't."

The term unwilling clearly touched a nerve; supporting Gansworth's belief that Al likely harbored great insecurity where Ed's unpredictable free will was concerned. The boy tried to submerge it but it kept cropping up.

Now was not a good time to delve into that dark of a corridor.

"So his…inability…to engage in a verbal exchange. This in particular is upsetting you."

"Maybe not upset…disappointed. But it's not all bad. Because he's so close. I think he's really trying. It's just that there was this line he couldn't seem to cross. But, hey, he was completely rattled, it was just so much for him to deal with, this big event and we had to wait and worry about it for so long. I know how he feels, it was brutal. He needs time to get used to me and then it should be fine. I think it'll work out. Right? You think I'm right?"

"It seems like a viable possibility. Your willingness to see this through is one of the keys to making it work. So we want to be very protective of your emotional well-being, even though I know that's not something you're comfortable with as a priority. We want to keep you from getting too stressed. My view of this situation is a little different than what I'm hearing from you. If I understand you correctly, you feel that being together with him as much as you can, twenty-four seven if possible, is the absolute best way to go about this. But doesn't it seem like it would be better, more effective, more positive, if you only spend your optimum time with him? See him when you're rested, composed, thinking clearly. And then, when you're tired, cranky, having some of the issues we've been working through - and you know those issues aren't going to evaporate just because you're able to stay with Ed - you can spare him the difficulty, and preserve enough time for yourself to work through what you need to work through in your own space. We can assure that you continue to improve on your own. As a result, you would be more composed and better able to deal with his behaviors when you're with him; and really, it's best for the both of you. Isn't it?"

Al grumbled; talk to the doctor long enough, and he always hit on something that riled up some pretty negative feelings.

"I'm not going to agree to that now, before I even get a chance to try. The Colonel said I can stay with him. I wanna stay with him," he said, suddenly cross.

"All right. I understand. But at least consider it as an option. Keep in mind that you can change your mind. I'm hearing you say that you're still committed to trying this all or nothing approach. All right. So long as you're satisfied with the way things are going, stay with it. Just be honest with yourself. What works at one stage of his recovery may be totally inappropriate at another. Keep an open mind."

Al jumped to his feet, cutting off the carefully considered words.

"They're coming! He must be waking up! Let's go!"

"Hold on, Alphonse, let's see what they're…"

But the door opened to reveal Fuery and Falman, flanking a grim-faced Winry.

Her face bloomed and brightened with a surprised smile.

"Alphonse!" Then she caught herself, reining back the rush of happiness and relief at seeing Al and escaping the rather embarrassing situation she'd managed to get into. If he was already back, things might not have gone well.

"Winry! I saw him! I talked to him!"

"Al, that's…wow, really?"

"Yeah! Yeah! He knew me, he even said he wanted me to stay!" Al cried breathlessly, spontaneously leaping to a whole different perspective in the gallant rush to spare her pain, quite the opposite of what he had been grappling with moments ago.

"Oh my gosh, Al, that's great! That must have been so exciting!" Winry's rush of pleasant surprise at his statement faltered just a little. Al sank back down on the bunk in a slightly hunched posture, and her urge to give him a celebratory hug suddenly seemed inappropriate.

"Ab-absolutely!" Al stretched for the next thing to say, catching himself off-guard and floundering to support the totally unexpected burst of desperate optimism, clueless as to where it came from.

"It's such a relief, I was so worried. So why are you here? Aren't you staying with him yet?"

"Miss Rockbell," Gansworth intervened, clearly seeing that his patient was struggling with this new direction. "Alphonse and I were going over a few of the impressions he had of his meeting with Edward."

"Oh. I'm sorry if I interrupted. But it sounds like it went really well!"

"It had some very encouraging elements, but I think that it's not wise to leave you with the impression that it all went smoothly. Edward's behavior was within the parameters of what we expected, as we discussed."

Winry's quizzical look made Al grimace.

"I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea. But I was telling the truth. He knows me, Win. He wants me there, he really does. He even tried…he even tried… to protect me…" Al's voice choked off into silence, his face scrunching up even harder. He wasn't quite able to look Winry in the eyes now.

Gansworth touched Al's shoulder, to let him know he was there.

"Take your time. There's no need to say anything more. Not until you're comfortable with what you have to say. Miss Rockbell, perhaps we could have a few minutes? This, ah, debriefing, if you will, is very valuable to me. The more I can understand about Edward's behavior, the better."

"Oh?" Winry said softly, watching Al to make sure this was all right with him. "Sure. Anything you need me to do."

Al looked apologetic, conflicted and upset. "Sorry, Winry, but we don't have much time and Dr. Gansworth needs as much information as he can get. He wasn't there when it all started."

"I'd be happy to explain more, later," Gansworth added. "Gentlemen? Can one of you escort Miss Rockbell out?"

He caught Fuery and Falman as they were breaking up out of their huddle. The Warrant Officer's repeated assurance that Winry's wandering was no one's fault, since it occurred while Fuery was forced to leave her alone to secure the extra cot, hadn't eased the compact Sergeant's mind much at all.

"I need to write that report for Lieutenant Hawkeye anyway," Fuery said, resigned to owning up to his breach. They filed out and secured the door behind them.

The room was deathly quiet when it was just the two of them again.

"Thanks," Al said with bowed head.

"Do you know what happened there?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything anymore. Can't we just go back now?"

"Soon. Hold on. Let's get back to our conversation."

"I meant what I said. It's all true. Even though it doesn't make sense. He does want me there. Whatever else happened, I know that. That's why we have to get back before he wakes up."

Gansworth's efforts to stop Al from pleading his case to go back to his brother were fruitless. Many of the precious remaining minutes ticked away without meaningful dialogue

"We will go back soon. But please, won't you…"

The door opened again, swinging in abruptly, making Al jump. Havoc's breathless plea made it clear he'd made the journey at a dead run.

"Lieutenant?" Gansworth queried.

"Ed's experiencing some side-effects. Pretty severe, too - you need to come right away. Al, maybe you ought to stay here.".

"Unless you're not going back with me, Lieutenant, there's no one to remain here with him at the moment." Gansworth held out a hand to beckon the boy to join them, even though he was already up and poised to go. "Alphonse, I'm counting on you to keep control of yourself and stay well back unless I tell you that it's okay to approach your brother. My guess is that he's not going to be feeling well at all, so prepare yourself."

Al nodded with a worried frown, holding back his questions so they could leave without delay.

xxxxxx

It wasn't the usual stirring, the slowly increasing movement and gradual change in breathing pattern.

It was easily recognizable, though. The sudden groaning and halting, the sharp gestures. The Major knew it far better, but Havoc had seen it a time or two as well, and their expectant if nervous mood fell into worried disappointment.

"That last big dose may have been one too many," the Major murmured.

"I'm going. Be back quick as I can." Havoc was up and on his feet, wasting no time.

Armstrong heard him break into a run as soon as he hit the open corridor; his attention was stolen back by Ed's moan.

"I'm here, lad. Hang on." Unquestionably, these symptoms were after-effects of mixing sedation, with its blinding headache and associated nausea.

"Ah, the light," Ed moaned, pressing fiercely at the pain in his eyes. Armstrong was ready with a rolled, soft cloth, moving aside the mismatched hands and replacing them with the gently applied material.

He kept his voice very low and hushed. Not only light but sound, touch, heat or cold, any sort of sensory input was more pain to bear.

"Try to relax your muscles, Edward. I'll hold this here."

"Major, Major," Ed breathed roughly. "It hurts so much. Make it stop. Please."

"It will stop. It will. It just takes a little time. Bear with me, lad. I've sent for the doctor. He'll be here straightaway."

"Just…do something…I can't, it hurts too much."

"I think I hear him coming now. Try not to fight it. The more you tense up, the worse you'll feel it."

Havoc, Gansworth and Al appeared in the doorway after minutes that felt more like hours. Havoc was shepherding the younger Elric to keep him back; the agreement to stay away until the doctor gave permission to approach seemed to have been forgotten. Back in visual range, Al's urge to go to his brother was a formidable force to resist.

"I'm trying. I can't. It hurts too much."

The doctor was at Ed's side immediately, checking his pulse and talking so quietly it was hard for Al to catch his words, despite straining to hear.

"I'm here now, Edward. We're going to take care of you. I want you to trust me and try to relax. Let me handle this. I just need to do a little evaluation to make sure I get this right the first time." The slender fingers deftly took pulses and pressures, gently probed here and there, checking pupils and squeezing fingertips.

Ed grabbed for the white sleeve and aborted the attempt halfway when the effort caused a spike in the pressure and pain. Armstrong tried taking his hand, to help settle him down, only to have it jerk away and evade his touch.

"Can you take a pill for me?"

Ed groaned and nodded at the same time, trying not to roll side to side and failing to control the urge to writhe.

Pain aside, Gansworth was pleased with the lucid response. He could fully appreciate the enormous effort it took on Ed's part to cooperate.

It took both of them to get the medication administered even with his consent, and keeping it down was touch-and-go as the nausea took a firmer grasp.

Al peered from across the room silently twisting his hands, his shirt, and finally, squatting and gripping his knees.

Gansworth noticed and motioned for Havoc to take Al out of the room, confident that with the help of the Major, the two of them had Edward's situation under control. He was fully engaged in his examination of Edward, and while he played it off as a casual checkup, his concern was quite serious. The ongoing respiratory problems always presented the risk of escalating into a life-threatening emergency; there were countless potential problems from the patched organs and the eternal risk of rejection of the various artificial and transplanted segments of bone and cartilage. Stress amplified the shortcomings of his compromised immune system and his underweight, poorly fueled body faced a struggle even on his best days.

If they kept this up long enough, this incredible stress, this soul-shaking disruption, Ed's physical frailty could once again trump him mental issues and set him back, perhaps even back to square one with total bed confinement and zombie-level 24-hour sedation.

He never took anything for granted. While the lungs were thankfully clear, and the heartbeat was fast but not abnormal for a stressful situation, and his blood oxygen levels looked fine, nothing would be ruled out until everything checked out completely.

When he touched Ed's neck to feel for swollen glands the boy arched back and cried out. This again was another reason to take great care. If he did not accurately distinguish whether a reaction or symptom was physical or psychological, the resulting treatment could easily do more harm than good.

He had to stop the Major from intervening. Because of the constant, close association with Edward, the Major was somewhat prejudiced and automatically reacted to most behaviors as mental issues. It was understandable, since Ed was far more stable physically than he was mentally at the stage where Armstrong took up his role as support system.

Gansworth warned him back by blocking his reach with the back of his hand, a casual touch with no physical force but empowered with a brick wall of authority.

"Look at me. Edward. Did that hurt? I need to see your eyes."

Ed winced and nodded

"Let me see. I'll be very careful. Major, the warm compress, please put it back on his forehead."

He explored carefully; it was one of the muscles connected directly to the embedded socket of the automail.

"Does it bother you to move the automail?"

"My head," Ed moaned, ignoring the question. "Make it stop."

"What's he doing, why does he have to hurt him?" Al's relocation in the hall didn't serve to settle him down.

"He's not hurting Ed. But he has to check and find out if something is already hurting him. That's the only way he can figure out what it is and do something about it."

"But he wasn't. He didn't get injured."

"We don't know that. He did exert a lot of energy, he was pushing and pulling you all over the room, not to mention how reckless he was when he lost it. It's really easy for him to get pulls and sprains. I'd be surprised if he didn't after all that."

Havoc tried to keep talking, to mask the disquieting activity in the room as they struggled to help Ed fight off another bout of nausea.

"I wish I could help."

"Me, too. They'll call us back if they need us, though, and we sure don't want to get in the way. I know it's hard to just stand by and wait. You did a great job in there."

Al slogged to the window and, although he did not know of his brother's habit, let his head fall forward and come to rest smartly on the glass in a nearly perfect replication.

Alert and straining to hear, yet hoping not to hear anything, Al froze when the disquieting noise of bodies engaged in a great deal of movement ended in silence. If there was any way he could go back in without the risk of his presence causing more problems, he'd have been there in a heartbeat.

Havoc went ahead and peered in for the both of them. Armstrong was sitting on the bed himself, his bulk straining it significantly, with Ed leaning back against him. Gansworth had one hand pressed to Ed's forehead and the other resting on his shoulder. Ed was clearly awake although his eyes were nearly closed. Whatever the activity was that lead to it, for the moment, everything looked to be under control.

xxxxxxxx

Swimming up from the pain, the first real thing he could remember was Dr. Gansworth's cool palm on his forehead and the words, "You should be feeling something by now. Some sort of change; hopefully, you're feeling better."

The odd position shouldn't have been comfortable, but it was, and the reason for it tried to be quiet as he cleared his throat. That slip of sound wasn't startling or alarming, though, as they feared. Ed knew by heart every noise the strongman made in the course of a day and identified him immediately. It lent a sense of security, replacing the touch of nervous curiosity about his upright yet fully supported repose on the bed.

"Look at me, Edward, can you, please?" Gansworth asked.

That was asking a lot. It took a few more requests before he reluctantly blinked and finally complied.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but it should be getting tolerable. That's it. Just for a couple of seconds…good. You can keep them closed again if you like."

The pain was lessening; but as it receded, the skin-crawling, irritable feeling was increasing.

Ed made a frustrated sound, raking at his ribs with his fingernails.

Gansworth was way ahead of him.

"Easy, now. I know you're probably feeling a little restless, perhaps a bit aggravated. I'll give you something for that, too, as soon as we're sure you can keep it down."

Gansworth made a point of taking the automail arm and stopping it from scratching; the glimpse of metal being moved by someone else threw the memory switches that they'd all been waiting for.

"Alphonse!"

"You'll see him soon enough. Let's get…"

"No! Wait! I think…it was here. I saw it. Major! Major, where is it? You weren't supposed to let that Al get away!"

"Slow down now…"

"Lad, don't…"Armstrong couldn't get the words out fast enough to stop Ed's poorly considered sudden upper body movement.

"Ah…owwww!"

"You can't be getting up yet. And you need to minimize your movement of the automail."

The sound of Ed calling his name sent Al spinning back to the doorway. Havoc blocked his path and set his stance for interception, ready to make sure that he stayed back; but Al stopped, showing no intention of challenging him further.

It would be pointless to try and wrestle his way past someone like Havoc. I made more sense to get as close as possible and be ready for the first opportunity to get inside, whether it be by invitation or chance.

When Gansworth called for Havoc he held back for a moment before following, just long enough to make them think that he would continue to stand in the hall and wait for their permission.

Ed had called out for him. As far as Al was concerned, it was all the invitation and permission that he needed. The goal now was simply to get back in. Once there, if Ed wanted him to stay they should be reluctant to remove him just because he was disobedient.

He took the few steps that placed him in the center of the room and the look in Havoc's eye when his head whipped around was not promising.

But before Havoc could backtrack to toss him out, Ed caught sight of his brother's resurrected form and flung out his arm, grasping at the air to reach out in his direction.

"That's it! Right there! Bring it here!"

_It? _Gansworth frowned. "Do you know who this is, Edward?"

"Come here. Come closer," Ed motioned impatiently.

"Wait, Al."

Al tried to brush Havoc and his warning off and do as his brother bade him; but the Lieutenant snagged his upper arm and hissed in his ear.

"Stop it. Don't make me use force on you. Not in front of him. Understand?"

"I can't see it, it's too far away," Ed whined.

"We will bring him right up to you. That was our intention all along. But let me address your pain first. Then you'll see him."

"Forget that. Let it get closer. I can't see it."

The prospect of Ed's behavior in relation to Al was quite troubling if he was not even sure what he was. Gansworth decided to take more control of the variables. "I'll have _your brother_ sit in the chair and if you're both quiet and well-behaved, we'll bring _him_ a little closer. Alphonse, you can approach and take the chair. Please remain there while I finish helping your brother. He still needs tending to. All right?"

Al gave Havoc an indignant frown and shook him off to go take his place.

"All right."

Ed was worming around, struggling against the Major, trying to get himself set to see better while still taking full advantage of the mountain of human support he was leaning against. He moved the worn blue coat sleeve from flesh to automail hand and back again anxiously.

Gansworth worked quietly, tending to the remaining medical tasks, letting the boys eyeball one another and get used to being close without having to interact. Al seemed satisfied with being in arm's reach and wasn't pushing for anything more. As the pain receded, Ed was wide-eyed and engaged in absorbing the vision of Al, so provokingly close and yet so benignly seated and well-behaved, all from his place safely within Armstrong's capable protection.

"There you go. Drink this. It will settle your stomach. Don't worry, it only contains herbal supplements and some vitamins and minerals that will help your body deal with all it's been through today."

Ed sipped distractedly, making an involuntary nose wrinkle at the less than preferable flavor.

"That looks right," he said while looking straight at Al, finally ready to move forward. "Looks right."

"Of course he does. How is that, now? Take the last of it. That's perfect. You should be feeling much better. It should start working right away."

"Uh-huh." Ed watched warily. It wouldn't shut up before. Now, nothing? Was this the same being as before?

Al watched his brother's look narrow in suspicion.

"You can talk to him, Alphonse. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that you weren't allowed to."

Al nodded, clearing his throat, searching for the right thing, rejecting everything, and finally just stuttering, "Hey. Hi. Again."

Ed rubbed his forehead gingerly, testing to make sure that the pain there was still fading, before peering closer, leaning past the Major's massive bicep. This was a lousy time to be handicapped with pain, dulled senses and sluggish, half-drugged perceptions. If this were any less important he would have curled up in a ball to wait for this miserable state to pass.

Al blushed nervously. Sitting here was calming in a way, but he'd lost his momentum, and with it, his confidence. Ed was calling him an "it." He'd been so sure that they were connecting, but now he was starting to think just the opposite.

He jumped slightly, then realized it was just Havoc putting a hand on his shoulder. The man gave him an encouraging smile, and he took it with a twinge of guilt. Havoc should have been pissed off, the way they had been behaving. That guy was always the bigger man, and it was Al's petty bad behavior that kept bringing up that fact.

"You're touching," Ed said to Havoc, pointing, an eyebrow scrunched down in annoyance.

"That's right. Just letting Al know I'm here and that we're all fine. You doing okay, Ed?"

"Hmph," Ed turned away just for a second, then snapped back to Havoc again. "Just watch that. Watch what you're doing."

"It's cool, Ed. He's not bothering me. No big, it's fine. Like if I…" Al held out an open hand. "Like if I touch you."

Ed stared at the outstretched hand, breath held, frozen.

"It's not a big deal," Al persisted. "It doesn't hurt. It doesn't do anything. Right? It's just there. But I kind of like it. You know, it helps you get that feeling that there's a real person there to connect with."

Ed slowly nodded, and raised his flesh hand slightly, debating.

"I am a real person. I really am Alphonse, and you're really my big brother, just like you always have been."

Ed's hand came closer, hesitating again.

"Sometimes I start to wonder who I am, with everything that's happened. But I've always known who my big brother is. You're the one and only thing I've always been able to depend on in my whole life. I've missed you so much. There's a really big empty spot and you're the only one that belongs there. I don't want to have to miss you any more. Please. Please believe me. Please take me back."

Ed seized his hand abruptly, not to take it in his own, but to pull Al closer, and in the flurry of activity that followed, Al could swear that he'd seen the same stinging tears welling up in those amber eyes that he felt in his own.

Al tried not to stiffen up when Ed grabbed him only to smash his nose into his cheek. It didn't hurt. It didn't seem aggressive so much as…desperate.

"You…you smell…and warm…and…" Ed panted as he worried his way through his clumsy screening for monstrous smells and inhuman traits. His conflict over the need to use his flesh hand to do this verification, and the need for the tactile comfort of the coat sleeve in his fist sent waves of trembling and clattering though both arms.

It was part of the reason that his first attempt to reach out came off more like a small-scale assault.

"Hold up, Edward, what are you trying to do? If you want him to move away use your words. Here, let's have you come over this way…"

"No! He smells right! I want him here! Stay away, just wait, let me…I have to…wait…" Ed's hands pulled back for a moment, then began an invasive inspection of his brother's torso. "Why are you…why are these sticking out like that? What happened? What's wrong with your ribs?"

"They're fine, that's just what they feel like. They're supposed to be there, aren't they?"

"But I can feel them sticking way out!"

"I know, I can't help it. But I'm okay."

"Ah…" Ed yanked up the t-shirt and groped roughly before smacking the flat of his hand on the concave stomach. "It's not right, I don't remember it like this…"

"What you remember is from when I was a little kid! I lost all my belly fat, I'm grown up like you now!"

"Lost it? How?"

"I guess…I don't know…it was already gone when I got my body back. I guess because I got taller and grew up and I don't know, I guess there wasn't much food. If I even ate."

"Get..up…" Ed pulled at him in clumsy impatience.

"Okay, but…" Al barely got to his feet before Ed went over backwards without releasing his hold and dropped them both onto the bed. They would have been half in the Major's lap but for his quick reflexes, vacating the mattress to give them more room for a soft landing, poised to separate them if this got more aggressive.

Ed rolled with Al just enough to reverse their positions and crawled up on top of him.

Past his shoulder, Al got a glimpse of the men in the room hovering so close it was nerve-wracking; clearly they thought Ed's behavior was approaching the high-risk level. It wouldn't take much more before they would butt in and send them back to square one all over again.

But Ed let his weight down gradually, pressing softly into the body beneath him, to lay the side of his head against Al with care, sliding around until his ear found connection with the evidence he sought.

A clear auditory input of normal, thumping heartbeat. Once he had it, he latched on tight, and all at once he became determined to listen with all his heart and soul until he was certain beyond any doubt.

That was a tall order, with the world swirling incomprehensibly, stranding him with only the warmth of flesh against his face and the echoing rhythm of human cardiac activity. He grappled to keep a tight, even tightening hold, but it was impossible to tell if he was succeeding or just wishing. This seemed to be Al, this seemed to be a new truth. They may have actually succeeded in undoing one of his greatest evils. Precious Alphonse's undeserved sentence in that cold, isolated prison of armor might have been commuted after all. The living soul he loved and agonized over more than anything alive in this world may finally have been set free to find happiness and peace and healing instead of darkness and pain and suffering. The disbelief that he fought now was that it was too good to be true. A gift too great to allow himself to accept, he who deserved every second of the torture he had received times ten, he who fell short at every turn.

He wasn't the only one stuck in the moment struggling to understand the significance. Al prayed silently that everyone would be still and quiet, and so far he was not disappointed. Ed's clinging hold was the closest thing to a true embrace they'd managed so far.

Ed's eyes were closed, but he was very much awake, that was clear. For the most part, he was silent, although his lips moved repeatedly without stopping. With a few of his deeper breaths, there was just enough volume to hear what he was repeating to himself.

"Beat…beat…beat..."

He echoed the sounds as he heard them, praying beyond hope that they were real.

Al seized upon it as evidence that Ed was not off in some dream state, but truly doing what it appeared - listening to something he felt he needed to hear.

The minutes rolled on into many, until nearly an hour had passed; Al tried to hold still but finally had to shift, prompting the doctor to ask if he was still all right. It seemed that it was inevitable that the doctor's words and his own motion would break this enigmatic spell.

Gansworth went a step further to intrude by touching them both, making light contact with his fingertips on their shoulders.

Ed, deep in concentration, fully focused on the heartbeat as if it were his responsibility to keep it alive with the force of his will. Although his drying throat made the sound crackle, still he murmured to echo each beat; willing the next to come in measured succession.

Al was forced to consider the situation, and his anxiety rose. They wouldn't stand around endlessly waiting for them to tire of this, and Ed was no less clingy than when this started. He was fully convinced that Ed would be very upset if they were made to part before he was ready. Al wasn't sure he'd able to follow a direction along that order without a fight if it meant that Ed would feel rejected or unsure of him again.

It may have appeared to be passive from the start, but with each beat, Ed struggled to believe and accept. With each beat, he fought both the urge to hold tight and the urge to run away, far away, clear back to standby and beyond, to avoid the decision and the leap of faith it would demand. Things were just not as they seemed and the evidence here, though strong, steady, logical and believable, could easily be another delusion that would vanish and leave some unknown reality in its place. His head still throbbed, and a bone-weariness from the emotional wringing of the day added to his difficulty in coping.

By and by, the conflicting messages slid into background angst compared to the drive to hang on and fit in, somehow, with the process of this warm, living circulatory system. It was definitely somebody's. It was somebody's heart pumping in a seemingly normal body much warmer than his own. The warmth from it had a giving, penetrating quality. So human. So different from the massive armored brother he had grown accustomed to. So very much the opposite of the accursed homunculus.

He was incredibly tired from the effort. And tired of thinking. Tired of fighting. Tired of the guilt, the pain, the hard choices. Tired of making plans to save the world, tired of being responsible and culpable and always, always wrong, no matter what. With the beating heart and the warm chest, it felt like he was merging, finding sanctuary. It evolved into the best, most comfortable and fitting sensation since…since the self-transmutation attempt took him into the ethereal blue glow. There would never be enough of this feeling. The longer he stayed, the more thoroughly he became attached. All of that brain-scrambling work to figure out who or what this was; yet in the final analysis, it was gut feeling and pure instinct that rose to the top and confirmed that this was the kind of connection that was worth sacrificing everything for.

Slow, steady and mesmerizing, the muted power strokes of the contracting organ held him fast, rising and falling with the gentle motion of the deeply breathing chest.

They were nearly one organism, warm and at peace with this state of close co-existence.

When the sound and warmth vanished he let out a cry that made every soul in the room jump in startled reaction.

But the loss of the sound felt like the loss of the life and he grappled blindly for he knew not what, like an infant dropping his pacifier unable to understand that it didn't disappear. His mind was too entrenched to make the sudden shift back and utilize all of his senses.

Al tried to go back to him but Ed's manner of struggle, with his arms up and flailing in front of him, prevented the very thing he desperately sought.

"Damn it!" Al glared at Gansworth, furious at his decision to part them and angrier still that Havoc was pulling him out of the way once Ed reacted badly. "I thought you were on our side! It was going just fine!"

"He needs tending to. Be reasonable, it's been over an hour of this, it isn't possible to go on endlessly without a break. There will be many opportunities for bonding sessions later. Shhh. Shhh now, Edward, it's all right, Alphonse is still right here."

Ed's hands covered his ears and clapped against them, trying to re-create the beat pattern and sound, illogically hoping to reverse the interruption and put things back the way they were.

After his initial bout of screaming, he was suddenly quiet again; still upright and moving, but focused internally to the exclusion of everything but the movement against his ears.

It was his pained expression that had Al growing more and more upset. It had been so peaceful, so serene when his brother was clinging close against his chest. They shouldn't have made them separate for any reason.

Havoc tried diverting his attention, not sure himself why Gansworth felt compelled to separate them.

The doctor's thin fingers slid in between Ed's automail hand and his ear with car,e and he let the boy's flesh hand grip his wrist.

Al frowned, viewing Ed's move as a defensive one.

Gansworth knew better. Ed's grip came seeking his presence, not fending it off.

"Open your eyes, Edward, just a little, just for a moment. You need to drink something, you're still dehydrated. I want you to see what I have here for you."

Ed clutched harder at the slender hands, understanding the words and their meaning, homing in on the familiar presence. His throat was completely dry, uncomfortably so, and he hadn't comprehended the feeling of extreme thirst on his own.

But the doctor did, with his firm grip and reliable guidance. Ed grabbed harder, in agreement, in need of somewhere to focus his full attention.

"Ed, let go. Not so rough. You may not feel like doing as I ask but this is important. We're going to have to get some of this liquid in you."

Armstrong reached over and took his old coat by the collar, drawing it slowly over their joined hands, trolling for distraction if not reaction to redirect Ed's focus.

It was almost painful for Al to see it work; to see Ed let go of the man and grab for the coat instead, like an empty-headed kitten, going for the movement of something passing in his field of vision. Without knowing the full significance of the blue garment, the scene played an entirely different tune, frustrating and aggravating him.

"That's it," Gansworth whispered, reaching back for the squeeze bottle with its long straw. "That should give him something else to hang on to. I need some cooperation here."

Watching two men outsmart his genius brother with a coat and a straw was maddening. It tripped his blinding rage, filling his chest with the heat of anger.

"Al, what is it?" Havoc asked quietly in his ear.

The younger Elric spun on him, barely biting back the tirade at having his time with his brother snatched away for something as petty as their power games. This was a show of superiority, rubbing his nose in their total disregard for human dignity; the cold slap of their demeaning, belittling treatment evoked instant outrage, barely able to keep clenching his fists to his side to resist the urge to beat them all for making Edward look so ridiculous.

Brown eyes filled with fire met cool, regretful blue.

"He's all right, Al. Doc's not hurting him. Not at all. Take it easy."

"Of course he's not gonna hurt him with a coat and water. What do you take me for?" Al hissed, trying to keep it low and failing.

"Let's step out."

"You step out! I belong here!"

"It's been one heck of a rough day. I can understand how this is getting on your nerves."

Before Al could reply, Havoc held his arms open and went on.

"We really should step out. Just for a minute. We'll talk this out without disturbing them. Then we can come back."

"They need to stop. You don't understand. This isn't right, have you been around this so long that you don't even see it?"."

"Go on out, Alphonse, and we'll discuss it. Come on. It's not optional."

"Not optional? The hell!"

"Not with that tone of voice. Not with those clenched fists. Move with me now or I'll move us both on three. Got it? One."

Al growled in indecision, pissed beyond words and yet, way in the back of his head, getting the sinking feeling he was screwing up again.

"Two. All you have to do is turn and walk. Do it, Al. Let's go have a talk. Not a scene. Not here."

Al backed in the direction of the door, ready to fight if Havoc should call out the final count and come at him. His attention flicked to Ed, Armstrong and the doctor, still in an oddly synchronized back-and-forth effort, dribbling water in aggravatingly small amounts at each opportunity when the disoriented alchemist dropped his guard. Treating Ed like he was theirs. Treating him without any respect. Treating them both like children.

"I could have given that to him. You saw me before, I can get him to drink. He understands me. Why all that other bullshit?" Al snarled as soon as they were no more than six paces away from the door. He had a mountain of accusations, a gut load of anger, and he was just getting started.

"You sound like you're getting out of control, Al. Do a reality check. There's no reason for you to be all worked up like this."

"I had him, damn it! We finally get together, and they pull this?"

"Look…"

"I have a right! They can't just do whatever they want and ignore me!"

"But, wait. Doctor Gansworth has the authority to…"

"He's my brother, and I want them to knock that shit off, and I'm gonna make 'em!"

"No, you won't."

"Forget that! I'm not going to let them…"

"Alphonse! Enough! I can't let you back in there. Try to listen to me." Havoc was patting at the air between them, trying to illustrate his intent to keep things peaceful without using force. "They know what they're doing with Ed. They know what they're doing. And it's what's best for him."

For a moment, they were both acutely aware of how close they were to the transition from verbal dispute to physical fight. Al was itching to express the sudden rush of fury, so much so that the urge to strike out seemed legitimate.

Havoc was well aware, and cautious to make sure that he kept a firm handle on the situation. He had plenty of experience talking Al down before he became violent, time and again; but it wasn't successful 100% of the time, and this was primed to escalate.

"Stuff it! You can't keep me away from him anymore. That shit in there has got to stop!"

"Listen to me. No one's going to keep you out of that room except you. Your behavior is the problem right now. You're the one calling the shots, Alphonse. You're calm, you cooperate, you're in. If not - you can't go back until you get it together."

Al saw red, an idea flashing into his head that if he hit the taller man in his smarmy face and knocked him out, that would settle it. But an after-image of Ed seeing such a thing wedged into his thoughts, too, robbing the righteousness from the yearning of his clenched fists.

"I should be calling all of the shots," Al railed. "I'm not hanging out here in the hallway all damned day waiting for anybody's permission."

"You're right there. This is too disruptive. You're overtired and you're not thinking straight. Come on, we're going back to the other room.

"What?" Al cried, tripped up just as he was getting ready to spew more venom. "No!"

"Now or I will take you. We can't do this here, so if you plan to keep at it, we're moving the show. You choose."

"Go to hell!"

With that, in a liquid move so fast Al had no chance to fight back, Havoc had him helplessly under control, one arm bent up against his spine, and the other over his head and twisted to the base of his neck, so that his hands nearly met in a most unusual and painful manner. The submission hold was stunning in its swift simplicity and complete effectiveness.

Al was suddenly in no position to do anything, save that which met with the taller man's approval.

"Start walking. Maybe it'll help you get back in control."

His anger deserted him as quickly as it came, leaving him stammering without conviction to defend his behavior. "Me, out of control? I was just giving my opinion! I didn't do anything!"

"We're going to keep it that way. Let's go."

"Look, I'm calm, I'm calm! Stop it, you're hurting me. I don't want to leave."

"Prove it." Havoc was already aware of the change, nodding, backing off in relief. Al's body language and expression were telegraphing the end of his aggressive outburst much better than the boy evidenced in words.

"I don't know what came over me. Please, let me go."

"We're just getting started here, Al. No one wants to upset you, but you have to cooperate if you want to be in there with your brother."

"I know. I know. Please."

The relative silence in the small room picked up Al's raised voice like an echo chamber. Any hope that Gansworth had that Ed was too internally focused to notice was promptly squelched by the golden eyes sudden return to focus, searching the hallway distractedly.

"What is it, Edward?"

Ed raised an arm to point, frowning and shaking his head as if to clear his mind.

"I hear them, too," Gansworth conceded. "They'll be back in to see you later, I'm sure."

Ed's head shook vigorously until it riled his headache back up, slowing his movement to a slow side-to-side sway.

"Slow, Edward. Use words if you can, that helps me to understand."

"Mmm…Al…Al?"

"Yes. Let me ask, does it meet with your approval if we bring Alphonse back in soon?"

"N-now."

"Are you saying you want to see him now?"

"Now," Ed nodded, cringing.

"I don't think he's ready to come back in just this minute."

"But I hear him."

"I do, too. Major, a here hand please? Let's stay focused a little longer. You're doing quite well."

Ed took another sip and turned away.

"Havoc..."

"He'll be back shortly as well."

"He has a place now."

Gansworth followed Ed's gaze. He was looking at the additional bed.

"If you mean, Al has a place to rest when he's in your room, then, yes. He has a place." Gansworth moved the drink closer again, getting a little more cooperation. Ed's state of confusion and insecurity served to slow and subdue him; however long it would last, it was important to take full advantage of it. "I want you to eat some of this. You can hold it yourself if you like."

Ed's brow knit as he tried to follow through on his thoughts; his hand started to come up but lost direction and fell again. He flinched back when the bread touched his lips and absently shook his head but the doctor's persistence won out, alternating water and bread until he turned the task over to the Major.

"Keep him busy," he instructed in Armstrong's ear. "Talk to him, keep him engaged. We need to get everyone settled down now. I can't stay much longer."

"But I hear him," Ed said.

"Yes, Edward, he's nearby and he'll be back, just as the good doctor said. Now let's see about…"

"Something's wrong. Al! Come back!"

"Please don't call out into the hallway. That's a bit loud," Gansworth broke in.

Ed paused, trying to decide whether to disobey, and the words of argument in the near distance between Havoc and Al took center stage.

In an uncharacteristic flush of irritation, Gansworth stalked out and confronted the source of Ed's distraction with a tight-lipped glare.

"Move further along here. Move. Both of you. Now. Are you two quite through? Lieutenant Havoc, is this some new procedure? "

"No, sir."

"I appreciate that you're trying to handle this without force. But this is exactly what we're trying to avoid. Do you hear that? Do you hear how upset he's getting? I can't fathom why you'd let this go on close enough for him to hear and disrupt his treatment."

"Hold up," Al challenged. "This isn't my fault. You want to talk disruptive? You started this. Out of nowhere."

"You agreed to the ground rules. You know the potential consequences if you break them. Following my direction is important. It is not negotiable." Gansworth's divided attention caught the Major's admonition to Edward; the disagreement in the room was escalating. It spurred on his scolding. "I cannot attend to the two of you around the clock. Can you not comprehend that there will be certain times for making progress and working on issues, and that the rest of the time, we need to strive for a reasonably uneventful, peaceful co-existence? Do you now understand that the transition between these two conditions will not always be some natural break that occurs by chance? Even if it's positive progress, at some point, sessions will end. And at that point, practical concerns - I'm talking medical examinations, eating, sleeping, toileting, bathing - are going to become the focus instead. Redirection. Distraction. Easing the transition, bringing him along without confrontation, with a minimum of distress. That's what I'm trying to do here. There is a goal when I act. Even if you don't recognize what I'm attempting to do, you must learn to have faith that my actions are purposeful."

"You could have told me that's what we were doing. I could have done that. I could have given him water, instead of you jerking me around."

Gansworth shook his head, still quite stern, but making sure his voice was too low for Ed to overhear.

"No. You could not. I guarantee you that if you had attempted to remove his head from your chest and ordered him to stop, this would have turned into something else entirely. His negative reaction was thoroughly predictable and it was essential that we handle it in this way. Do you believe that he, or you, are best served by making you the bad guy? Follow me, think. What is he attempting to do, Alphonse? What is he attempting to do when he interacts with you, think about it. And what you are attempting to do?"

"We're just trying to be together again."

"And you don't want him to be - what? Like he was before. His reaction to you before. What part of that do we want to get past? What is it?"

"He didn't recognize me."

"More basic than that. He was afraid of you. Did not trust you. Did not believe you, or even believe in who you are. He's trying very hard to be open to you, and he's still very afraid, but he overcame all of that to reach out to you. And what did you do?"

"Me? I did what I thought he wanted me to…I was…I held real still, I tried not to scare him. I tried to just be there for him. And go along with whatever he did."

"Yes. And it was very difficult for you I'm sure, and it was a lot to deal with. In your head. But in the actual, physical sense, you did almost nothing. Follow me? From Ed's perspective he got no feedback from you except the involuntary sounds from your body. So go a step further. That would mean the only real, overt action you would have taken would be to push him away and halt his effort to overcome his fear and doubt; that would be the upshot if I had asked you to be the one to end the session. Correct?"

Al looked weary and defeated as the truth of it sank in. he didn't answer, only cast his eyes downward.

"Listen to me, Alphonse. You should understand now. I'm not going to be arbitrary or mean. You must learn to fully trust my judgment."

Al's head dipped down, perhaps in acknowledgement.

"Now, tell me truthfully. What are you acting out on? How much of this is really due to your convictions, and how much is beyond your control?"

Al didn't reply. Gansworth sighed, reassessing. He had been pushing pretty hard, to try and get Al rolling with some unfiltered response, but the boy was shutting down. It appeared to be out of guilt to some degree, perhaps embarrassment.

"Too broad of a question to answer just like that, I suppose," he conceded in a more sympathetic tone. "Let me ask you something else. There's a lot of tension that I see in you that strikes me as very similar to the distress that you evidenced before. Is the environment causing some discomfort? Do you feel too confined?"

That was an easy one. Ed's room, so small, with the two beds and too many people…it made the back of his neck sweat every time he had to enter the room. Not that it had yet to make him pause so much as a moment before going in; but it definitely made him feel stressed and uncomfortable on top of the mess going down in those four walls and in his own unpredictable head and heart.

But he hesitated. He'd promised that he could cope with it, in order to make sure that they would allow this meeting to go forward. Now, with his bad behavior, and apparent misunderstanding of the doctor's actions, this was another failure in his role in their reunion.

"It's all right to have those feelings, Alphonse," Gansworth said, as if reading his mind. "We discussed this and you assured me that it would not be an issue. I know that you were sincere. I didn't want to discourage you. But remember that I tried to prepare you for the likelihood that you can't just will away your discomfort with small spaces. It comes from a traumatic experience that you're still working through. There's no shame in it. So please be open with me. The more information I have, the better I can help, and make intelligent decisions about how things will proceed."

"What kind of decisions? You're not going back on your word, are you? We're still going to be together."

"At this time, the commitment is still to have the two of you stay together."

"Okay. Okay. That's good."

"Yes. So will you answer my question?"

"Uh." Al fished for the right words, a way to tell the truth with a spin that would make him seem stable and unquestionably safe to leave with Edward. "Okay. It's true. I feel it. It's tight with everybody in there, for sure. It's uncomfortable. But I can handle it!"

Gansworth watched him, analyzing, assessing.

"We need some time to go over this in a real session and we're going to do that soon. But for now, if you can make the effort to maintain on a more even keel, I'm going to try letting you go back in. You must pay attention to my instructions, so listen closely. I want you to stay slightly distanced from Ed and wait. Give him a chance to adjust. Let him bring you in closer only on his terms and only if he insists. We're trying to do a lot of things here, but the most important at the moment is to get him comfortable with have you present whether he's interacting with you or not. Especially when he's not."

"I'll do better," Al nodded, anxious to see why the Major had just called out Ed's name. "Please."

"You'll be taking your evening medication without complaint?"

Al nodded vigorously.

"Very well. I'm trusting you to cooperate. In we go, then. Lieutenant? On your toes."

_Toes? _Havoc thought, following a step behind Al as they filed back in. _More like pins and needles. _

Xxxxxxx

What's this? Envy wondered, stretching his feathered neck to work out the kinks. Rage's last meal had been a fighter, pretty formidable for a mere human. The little one was growing so quickly now. Gluttony was getting a soft spot for the adorable little bug, sharing the prey that Envy delivered without a fuss instead of trying to hoard the whole thing.

They'd caught Rage eating human food, as opposed to human flesh, and when he found out, Envy was furious. There was no need to eat that sort of thing instead of properly consuming the carefully selected cuisine his parent provided.

Individual adults were easier to snatch than unwed mother and child pairs. The railroad yard was abundant with transients of all types, people that were nearly disavowed by their own kind anyway. It made hunting easier, if less fun, with the rare exception of the diamond-in-the-rough that knew how to defend themselves.

The huge windows, as always, provided selective vignettes, and this was enough to see that Alphonse was having some sort of interaction with Edward. It seemed every man in the place was in on it, including the elusive but very much marked for death Havoc. Havoc was doing a lot of talking with the lesser Elric. So many times, they went in and out of the room.

It was difficult to determine what this was all about. Was Fullmetal gravely ill and these were visitors? Was it his birthday? Were they preparing to change his location, or perhaps, even release him into the wild?

The doctor kept coming in and out as well, talking to people with a grave expression.

Envy considered his options. He hadn't seen the dogs all week, his worst enemy when it came to getting in the building. Maybe it was worth the risk. After all, if this was something serious, all of their plans could be altered. A replacement for Edward had not been secured, should he be unable to fulfill his duties on the Day.

A replacement for Edward. There was no such thing from Envy's point of view. This was the human he was meant to possess. And as his property, it was imperative that he find out exactly what condition he was being maintained in.

He'd been meaning to experiment with this anyway. With a few quick flaps, he was on the ground at the corner of the building, where the outer guards would pass on a clockwork schedule, identify one another, and move on.

Before long they did just that. And Envy, snickering silently, listened, and memorized the words of validation for one of the soldiers.

Once the guards continued past one another as always, around opposite corners out of all sight, Envy struck. A quick blow to the back of the neck, precisely enough to render the man unconscious for some time, and a quick flick of his motionless body to toss it behind the large privet.

Plucked from the silent form, the official identification clipped smartly to his breast once he assumed the image of his victim. Envy ventured out to swagger right up the front steps, barely suppressing what he assumed would be a tell-tale evil grin as he flashed his ID and gave the correct verbal responses to Lt. Hawkeye, apparently on her way to the ladies' room. He took hers, as well, and waited to turn down the next hall before flashing into her likeness.

Smooth, it was going quite smoothly, until he tried to think of how he would explain his/her lack of Hawkeye's identification.

So he ducked back, as soon as he was close enough to hear Fullmetal's group, and morphed again - this time, into a shadowy, indistinct form, stretching along the edges of the recessed doorframe to blend in, listen, and wait.

It didn't take long to understand the situation.

Simple, and largely irrelevant…except that now, instead of just taking Alphonse, the Elrics would now have to be pulled out as a pair. That was good news. Lust could not complain, it was her order to find out once and for all if Alphonse was capable of alchemy or not. But he couldn't very well snatch one and leave the other as witness. Nope, when the time was right, he would be forced to take them both. And it was all right. Because he could begin taking careful, attentive care of Edward while the others had whatever fun with Alphonse that tickled their fancy until the arrival of the Day.

Thinking of giving his attention to Edward, all alone, with time and privacy and total control…

The sound of footsteps brought him out of his reverie and back on alert. He held very still as the lanky man in the white medical coat hurried by without so much as a glance. One less person in the room. One less potential source of interference, should he choose to act now…

The thought was so exciting he nearly lost it. The temptation to go in and slaughter everyone in sight and take his prize made his whole being tremble and nearly lose the strange camouflage he had adapted.

If it wasn't for Major Armstrong's exasperating baritone, he would have acted out on those urges. But reality slapped him with hard truth that Armstrong, while surely not enough to defeat him, was strong and foolhardy enough that he might hold his own long enough for the Flame Colonel to show up, with that pistol-packing bimbo of his, and no telling who all else might come to their aid as well. It was the slimmest of chances, but it was possible that he would fail to make off with his prize. The pipsqueak might get squished in all that commotion. It would be fun, granted, but it was too risky in such close, well-populated quarters.

Still, he cautiously let his invisible essence spread until he found it, touched it, confirming soul-to-soul that this was the object of his desire. His touch was not without impact. He was confident that neither Edward nor his keepers would have any clue what this feeling was, and after resisting the itch to do so much more, such a little thing was owed him, at the least.

So, with a very large bitter pill, he swallowed his desires and returned to mimicking the Lieutenant's form, striding away and morphing back into the guard's image just before passing Hawkeye's doorway.

When he hit the outside air, a quick survey of the area revealed that the other guard was not in sight. He slipped behind the privet, returned the ID to the motionless soldier and deposited him with his head against the edge of the building and feet toward the sidewalk, clearly visible as if it had been an accidental fall. Satisfied, he flipped back into bird form and sailed away.

So easy. For all of their gyrations, the military's security was totally useless against him. Maybe he would come back and do this again for fun, when the crowd died down. Go and tuck the boys in properly, and kiss them goodnight.

He cawed in laughter at that. No, he really couldn't trust himself to get that close to them and still be in control, not if he couldn't drag them away. No way in hell.

xxxx

Gansworth absently wiped the perspiration from the palms of his hands by smoothing them down the sides of his coat. The situation was calm enough. Ed was looking at Al but saying very little. Al would utter a few words, innocuous comments, but for the most part, he was quiet now, as well. Havoc and Armstrong were engaging them separately, trying to get them to eat, using their bodies as a bit of a hedge to keep the boys from making any sudden moves at one another.

It was actually less than he had expected, the doses of sedative that allowed for this quiet time. Ed was already getting a therapeutic amount to counteract the rebound from the harder drugs; and Alphonse seemed stable on his routine medication at a quarter-dose. It was enough to take the edge off, both of his nerves, and his claustrophobia, and thankfully seemed to have suppressed his wild moodswings. The slight drowsiness made for a more workable attitude. That, in turn, was a great relief for Havoc and Armstrong, who sorely needed a break from the constant high tension.

The overall climate in the room felt much improved. Ed, ever-sensitive to such things, was inclined to do more watchful waiting while tucked up against the Major for security, looking to him for guidance.

Ed muttered into the thin sandwich before each tiny bite, but he was taking them, and the food was staying down.

Al ate only when prompted, his attention fully on Edward, his mind busy elsewhere.

Satisfied and very, very late for his next patient, Gansworth grabbed up his valise.

"Good day, gentlemen. I have to get going. I'll check in later."

Havoc shared a look with the Major. This was the first test, then. The first time the four of them were left to see how the actual living situation was going to pan out.

Ed was well in hand; Armstrong's guidance was unrelenting, fussing over each bite.

Surprisingly, it was Al that saw it first. The change in Ed's eyes, the shift in mood.

"Ah," Ed gasped, pushing away the food so abruptly that it flew to the floor. "I feel…I feel…"

"Brother?"

"Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. It's here. It's here. It's here!" Ed stammered, trying to rise, fruitlessly searching everywhere in the room with wider and wider eyes. His foot slid, and Armstrong's grab to support him was clumsy, adding to the confusion when Ed tried to pry him off in a panic.

"What's here? Edward, it's all right," the Major said, growing more concerned. It sounded like a flashback, but if it was, this episode had a whole new type of presentation; it gave him a strong feeling that something was not right.

Ed, finding nothing, reluctantly directed his search to Alphonse, seeking yet hoping not to detect something amiss in this person he was trying so hard to believe in. The flesh on the back of his neck was burning, and his pulse was raging in his veins. That feeling, it was unmistakable. The last time he'd felt it so strongly, he had run to the library to escape it, and still it had persisted.

But Al's face was flushing, too, and he looked as frightened as he did concerned, suddenly wide awake and on alert.

"What is that?" Al gasped. He wasn't asking Ed. He was looking now, too, wanting to take cover, the pit of his stomach tight with dread. Just like in the old barracks, with the sounds on the roof, and the crazed rat. That strange, terrifying touch of something awful.

"Stay put." Havoc had to pry Al's fist from the front of his shirt before he could start for the door. This could easily be Al picking up on Ed's weird vibe and nothing more; but the hairs on his own neck were bristling, and the Major didn't launch into his usual routine to distract and placate Edward , either.

"Don't do it!" Ed cried. "Stop! Wait! It's here! It's here!"

The fervor of his plea inspired Al, and he grabbed Havoc's arm. "Maybe he's right! Don't go out there!"

"Whoa, Ed, Al, I'll be fine. Take it easy, I just want to get a look…"

Ed was up now, reaching for them both.

"You two get back! Listen to me, dammit, get behind me!" Ed cried. If they were here, they were here for him, and they would tear apart anyone who tried to get between them. He wasn't strong enough to fight them, but at the very least, he could give himself up and prevent anyone else from getting hurt.

Armstrong kept a hand on Ed and they ended up in an awkward huddle, milling as Ed and Havoc engaged in a bumbling competition to get closest to the doorway, and Armstrong and Al tried to haul them both back.

The rush of panic dribbled away as Envy's presence disappeared, leaving them struggling with confusion and one another instead of fear.

Al shook his head, clearing it, sure now that whatever had him on alert had either vanished or was pure imagination. He blushed sheepishly, frustrated at himself for getting carried away with Ed's delusion. He didn't mean to add to the problem. He was supposed to be helping.

Ed was slower to react, slapping away Havoc's hand as he reached the doorway, panting and trembling in dread at the sight he was certain would await him in the hallway. The old wounds stitched at his flesh in an unpredictable pattern of remembered pain, micro-flashbacks, and suddenly the thought of that smell was more than he could bear.

But he couldn't retreat and expand the tragedy by letting someone else know how this felt, what it was like. One shot, he'd take his one shot if that face appeared, and his hands went up, quaking so hard the Major made a grab for him, fearing not only a potential transmutation, but the possibility that this had elevated into a seizure.

"Edward!" Armstrong barked, loud and clear but emotionally neutral. "Come here. Stay in your room as you promised."

The hallway was empty, the windows revealed no motion. Ed was struggling within himself, gagging as he tried to swallow the copious load of saliva that overflowed to start down his chin, trying to get physical control and stop the sirens screaming in his skull long enough to absorb the change in what he was perceiving.

Nothing there. The burning sensation in the back of his neck was being extinguished. It was okay to breathe and the Major's booming voice landed like a life preserver, giving a focus to collect his exploded senses

He came to realize that he was captured in the Major's arms, with his own crossed against his chest, firmly but gently held by those massive paws. Still at the brink of the doorway, at a threshold he no longer had any desire to cross, the last of the adrenaline evaporated and his body weight slowly became the larger man's burden.

Still gasping and coughing but with far less force and distress, Ed quieted otherwise. Havoc hovered close, ready to assist, one eye on Al but proud of the young man for his quick recovery and appropriate reserved behavior.

"Let me help you. Come with me now," the Major said, lowering his voice yet still being firm.

"I don't…" Ed gasped, and had to clear his throat to finish. "…don't see it. It's not here anymore. It's not."

Armstrong made an agreeable grunt as he tried helping Ed walk, then paused to let him shift around to grip the front of his uniform. He tried to get his feet to support his body weight, to no avail. Without the larger man's help he wilted down each time.

"There, now, Edward, this is more efficient."

Ed's ego gave him a split-second of objection, but the rest of his mind and body overruled and he welcomed the feeling that came with the knowledge that the Major, who picked him up as easily as if he were a toddler, was also a fierce and formidable ally who never seemed to look down on him.

A bittersweet moment of affection pierced Alex's heart when Ed relented, raw and unguarded, holding on tight and burying his forehead into the broad chest. It felt like a hug, a desperate, needy hug, like that of a child being rescued from a nightmare.

If only he could. If there was a way, no matter what, he would make the nightmares stop. But that was not likely to ever be the case. With great care and consideration, pausing and giving Ed every chance to control the manner in which he was being deposited, Armstrong successfully returned them to where they were when all of this started.

Havoc had purposely faded back, joining Al in silent, watchful waiting. It was remarkable to see how the Major handled the situation, delft yet powerful, commanding yet compassionate; it clearly was the right fit for Ed's needs. It was somewhat emotional, witnessing how deep the trust had grown.

Al's own heart ached for so many reasons he couldn't begin to sort them out. That was _his_ trust Armstrong was cherishing. It used to belong to him. Ed always had that deep and abiding trust for him, and only for him, in all the world.

It felt like losing everything all over again, watching Ed cling to the weird alchemist while turning his back to his own brother, not even acknowledging his existence in the room, much less the world.

Sure, he felt ashamed about the way he'd just behaved. There were oceans of things he was ashamed about, it wasn't at all that he felt like he was the only one who was worthy of Ed's trust and affection.

Somehow, up until now he'd convinced himself that the reason Ed wasn't showing him that trust was because he was no longer capable of trusting anyone, after all he'd been through.

But clearly, that was not the case.

It was a lack of trust for him, specifically. He'd lost it. Ed recognized him, and still, it didn't click. _I see you, you're Alphonse, the other child from my dead mother's womb. I know who you are. It means nothing to me anymore._

Havoc knew what it felt like to be replaced as Ed's caregiver. He recognized that look, although Al's was surely a thousand times more intense. And to his credit, though the emotions swirled and he obviously struggled, in the end, the look transformed to one of resolve. He had come back around to join Havoc on the same page. The important thing was to make sure that Ed was taken care of. The rest of it just had to be swallowed.

"I'm sorry," Ed muttered, watching while the Major checked his shoulder, aware yet comfortable with the fact that this was just busywork to settle them both down again. "I just thought…I don't know."

"Do you want to tell me about it? It might help."

"Just my…" Ed waved a hand around behind his head, swirling a circle in the air around the back of his neck. "I felt it back here. I sensed it. I don't know. I thought I did. I guess not."

"Were you starting to fall asleep and dream sitting up? Maybe one of those?"

"Oh, like…well…no…I don't know. I still do that, though. Sometimes. Maybe."

Armstrong sighed. That snap transition while sitting still, from awake and coherent to asleep; and not only asleep, but falling directly into deep dreaming, was a troubling syndrome that had reappeared stronger than ever in the last couple of weeks.

The doctor surmised its cause was, at least in part, to damaged areas of his brain still trying to repair and reroute.

And it was a reasonable explanation. Alphonse's suggestibility explained his behavior as well, and it would probably be heightened by the small dose of his relaxant. In fact, Ed's susceptibility to waking dreams was seen to increase dramatically with some medications.

And he'd certainly taken plenty of them today.

So no real-life invader, no homunculus toying with them, the Major thought with great relief.

"I'm sorry," Alphonse said quietly. "I guess I panicked."

"It's all right," Havoc assured him. He'd had his own moment of fear that something was about to go down. It would take some getting used to, dealing with both Elrics when things got hairy. In this case, a sort of mini mass hysteria swept through them when Ed went off on his tangent. He'd be more aware and make sure to resist falling into that trap again. Armstrong likely got the same education from the experience.

"No, it's my fault," Ed said, wringing his hands together. "My fault. My fault. I can't be scaring Al. That's not right."

"These things happen. Let's not get down about it. No harm done," the Major smiled, patting Ed's hands until the fretful motion stopped.

But Armstrong noticed another drawback to the new configuration. Everyone had managed to run into one inanimate object or another during this last incident. Walls, beds, chairs…there simply was not enough room to move about in here with four souls and the necessary furnishings.

The plan was to acclimate the boys to being together before uprooting Ed and settling him in the larger room. He sincerely hoped that they would get used to one another quickly.

"Hey, you didn't scare me that much. I overreacted, that's all. We're good."

"I don't like the windows!" Ed blurted, trying hard to figure out what upset him. "Or the door being gone."

The Major took a chance and planted his little seed of an idea.

"Well, Edward, perhaps we can make arrangements so that the two of you don't have to be right at the windows. And make sure that there's a door that closes, as well."

"You should. You should fix it."

Armstrong noticed Havoc's barely perceptible negative shake of his head. It wasn't Ed's reaction, but Al's eager look that prompted it.

"I think he means my…our…that other room. The one I stayed in. It has a door, and a bathroom, and there's no windows, not in the room or in the hallway. We could even go there right now. I mean, it's empty, but it's all made up for us," Al said, poorly concealing the fact that it took everything he had not to jump up and down and insist upon it.

"Where? For us, now?" Ed was looking unsteady again. "No one ever showed it to me. I never knew where it was. They wouldn't tell me. I couldn't find it."

"Another time, Edward. We can discuss it tomorrow if you're feeling up to it. This has been quite a day. I think it's time we started getting everyone settled down. No more heavy thinking for today," Armstrong said.

"I didn't try to find you. I did a couple of times but I didn't try hard enough," Ed said mournfully.

When Al took a breath to respond, he could detect Havoc and Armstrong's tension. He hadn't meant for that to provoke Ed in any way. But it seemed that he wasn't doing a good enough job of figuring out what he should say before he said it. So he tried to concentrate on how his words might impact his brother, but the possibilities were so boundless it seemed impossible to know what was wrong or right.

"It's okay. I was all right, knowing you were here and getting better. It was a little bit of waiting, and I had my own getting better to do. That's all."

Ed swallowed hard and looked at Al sideways. He hadn't been able to bring himself to meet those glistening eyes. Something inside tightened up when he thought about approaching Al; he wanted to, but it was too hard, and it shouldn't be hard. Al looked like he felt, worried, fearful and sad. He hated the idea that he was making Al feel this way, too.

"You look scared. Are you scared of me?" Ed asked in muted tones.

Al, caught by surprise, stammered for the right response. He didn't want to lie. Maybe there was no point in lying anyway. If Ed, with all his challenges, was able to see it, it must be more than obvious.

"It's not that, exactly," he said breathlessly.

"You are."

"Ed, kind of, but...I don't want you to get the wrong idea…"

"Me, too," Ed said, voice lowered in sorrow. "I don't understand it."

"You still…you're afraid of me?"

Ed nodded, head hanging down now .

"It's all wrong."

"What's all wrong?" Al felt his heart clench.

Ed's hands splayed open as he stared at them.

"Al was slipping away." It was hard to hear him, speaking so softly. "He...you...weren't moving. The helmet went dark. And I wanted to scream, but…I thought…maybe he's playing possum. I hoped so. And if you are, just stay like that. You can do it. You can stay still forever. You don't even have to control your breathing."

"Ed…"

"You just have to shut up and hold still. But that wasn't it. Your soul was getting pulled away."

The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

"And you came back, I saw you move…I was glad you were alive…until they noticed, too. They went right at you, I was trying, but it was hard. I tried to distract them but it didn't work."

"I do remember coming to," Al said. "I know what you're talking about."

"Yeah. I thought, we'll be okay, so long as they don't touch your blood seal. And it's like they read my mind. That thing peeled your helmet off. And I was so, so scared, when he touched it. When you started to scream, I though he was breaking it. I thought he was destroying you."

"I know. I thought that, too. I was so shocked to feel pain," Al said, struggling with his composure, swallowing hard to fight back tears and terror.

The silence that followed drew out into a minute, then two. The boys were hung up in that horrible moment in time.

"But then, you saved him," Havoc added helpfully. "You took him and hid him, and that's why he's here safe and sound today."

"I did a terrible thing. There must have been a million other ways I could have tried instead to protect him. But I buried him and left him to suffer. They were going to torture him, but all I did was beat them to it."

Al shook his head, distressed at Ed's guilt and self-reproach.

"No. They would have killed me. And taken the stone for their evil plans. Ed, you…"

"Then why are you afraid of me?"

"Not that kind of afraid! Listen, it's more like, I'm afraid of screwing up around you! I don't want to do the wrong thing and create problems! I don't want to hurt you!"

"So you're…not really afraid of me?"

"No, Brother, not of you. It's nothing like that. I mean it." Not really, anyway. Just a little uneasy. Nervous and queasy. But not in fear for his own safety. He'd felt like that before, but just a couple of times. It probably wouldn't happen again.

Ed took in the implication that he was the only one with these feelings. It was odd to feel relieved when Al had agreed that he felt the same way, but now it wasn't the case. As always in this twisted existence, his thinking was foreign and apart. The sense of belonging here, or anywhere, eluded him once again, even if this turned out to be Al beyond any doubt.

"I know I look like a monster. And I know I'm not what I was before. That's why I asked Havoc. He's gonna take over my spot."

Al tried to grasp what that had to do with them being afraid of one another, and held his tongue while he thought.

"I'll be there for both of you," Havoc finally broke in. "You don't look like a monster, Ed. Al isn't afraid of you. Neither am I. This is hard but it's bound to get easier. Once we're used to it, all of us being together should feel pretty darned good."

Ed was silent, still not looking at anyone.

"And that spot I'm taking isn't yours. No one could ever replace you, Ed. It's a new spot. You added it yourself. I'm here for you both."

"I just don't want to hurt Al any more."

He was afraid. He was afraid to look at Al and see more pain, or anger, or sadness. He'd have to look eventually but he couldn't do it now, even though he ached to see him and touch him and talk to him long enough to truly, thoroughly believe it was Alphonse.

"You're not going to hurt me. I hope you can tell how much this means to me, you letting me stay with you. I don't know if you understand how great it felt to hear you say you didn't want me to leave."

Ed shook his head slowly. "Felt…great?"

"Yeah. For real."

Ed dared to look, gaze slowly traveling up as far as Al's nervously tight lips.

"Well," Armstrong said quietly, "I'm afraid I must interrupt for a moment. Edward, we need to make a trip down the hall."

"What?" Ed asked, immediately distracted and confused.

The Major nodded patiently, ready to explain to Ed although they had done this hundreds of times. But before he could start, Ed was off on his own tangent, and it became clear that it wasn't the case that he had forgotten the process.

"What do mean, we? Does he have to go? Out there?"

"Well, I mean, I'll have to go sometime," Al said.

Ed growled into his palms, rubbing his face hard. "You should stay in this room. We have to figure something out."

"Hey, now, we can work with this. We can all go at once. Safety in numbers, right? The two of us can escort him and stand watch. Al will have total protection. Just as good as he has in here," Havoc offered brightly.

At least Ed didn't reject the suggestion, although he did not agree, either.

"That works for me. If it works for you, that is," Al said.

"Let's just go ahead and get this out of the way, then," Havoc said, taking an encouraging step in the direction he hoped they would follow.

"Sure." Al was up and hesitant to just go along, waiting to see what Ed would do.

"There we go, come along, lad," Armstrong reached as he, too, made the commitment to moving ahead.

Ed lunged up when he saw Al start to follow Havoc. He hadn't had enough time to process the idea of everyone going at once. It felt unbalanced, as if the whole world might topple over if they all moved in the same direction so quickly.

He managed to grab Al's arm before the Major could stop him.

Once he had that arm, another conflict struck him, and Al's startled face mere inches away froze him gasping in his tracks.

"Edward, just a moment."

"Yeah, let's not get in a rush. Doing okay, Al?"

"Brother," Al whispered, the sensation of Ed's hair brushing against his jaw line stunning him for a second.

Ed didn't reply to any of them. They had stopped moving, and that meant he could breathe again and get his footing.

"Gentlemen," Mustang said as he peered in. "Is this a good time?"

Ed jumped, startled. Havoc managed to get free to perform his identification check.

"It's going..?"

"It's under control, sir," Havoc replied.

Mustang gestured with a sharp nod and waited for some sort of response from the boys. From what he could tell, they were grappling at one another, and at Havoc until his appearance distracted them, but not aggressively.

"So." He cleared his throat, a rumbling sound, and watched Fullmetal waffle in his bid to hang on to Al. "May I ask what we're doing here, Major?"

"Well, sir," Armstrong said, "we were about to transition to a trip to the lavatory so everyone can get ready to turn in for the evening."

The Colonel stroked his chin for a few seconds, contemplating.

"Doesn't seem like that would require so much milling about. Fullmetal, are you setting a good example for your younger brother here? You should be showing him the ropes. You're capable of instructing him. Go ahead and…" Mustang reached out to guide them forward and received the painful chop of steely automail.

"Edward!" Armstrong snagged the elbow a split-second tool late.

"Don't!" Ed snarled. "You're not taking him! Al! If he tells you to go with him, don't! Don't ever let him talk you into leaving here with him, not alone!"

The Colonel rubbed his arm with a groan, not of pain, but of disappointment. Back to that again. He thought he had convinced Ed that he had nothing to do with that incident.

"What are you implying, Fullmetal? Keep your hands to yourself and calm down. I'm not taking him. I asked you to take him yourself. If you want to have control of the situation, do it properly."

"You're not going to hurt him!"

"That's correct. I would not hurt him and I would not hurt you. We have no dispute, so settle down."

"Don't tell me to settle down. Don't tell me you didn't hurt me!"

Mustang took a deep, halting breath. "I did not. I thought we came to an understanding. Don't you remember?"

"What understanding?"

"Think, Edward. Think back. As difficult as that may be, it's more difficult if you insist on blaming me for something I would never do."

Al's head waggled back and forth, following the volley of words in confusion. He wasn't sure what they were on about, but he felt a little better that Ed was arguing instead of losing control and acting out.

"I was there. I know what happened. Just because you talked me into doubting it…"

"It wasn't me. I can be a jackass at times, I'll admit. But you don't really believe that I would attack you and strand you somewhere at night. Lieutenant Hawkeye verified my whereabouts, and she wasn't the only one who gave you that assurance. Ring a bell now?"

Ed cast a worried glare at the floor. The sudden, unexpected appearance of Mustang's face gave him just a flash of the incident, and his first reaction was to protect Alphonse…but the deeper understanding that came with Mustang's words and some time to ruminate did not improve his level of alarm.

They had gone over this, and Lieutenant Hawkeye had been convincing enough.

But that meant something more disturbing, more threatening. He wasn't sure about homunculi in general. Maybe they could all shape-shift. It was a gut-rattling notion to think that they walked right in and took him away on a lark. That it had been so incredibly easy to be fooled.

But it was shattering to think that he might have been in Envy's clutches.

"I don't want to believe you," Ed spat as he ground his fists into his eyes.

Mustang shook his head sideways and tried again.

"Facts don't change according to what you want them to be."

_I didn't check him when he made me follow. I didn't get the chance, he was too far ahead of me from the start. What does that mean, is there anything else it could mean? It wasn't the Colonel. So it had to be. It could only be one of those monsters. But why didn't it do more? Just that little bit of damage? The way it just walked in and started barking orders…anyone would be fooled. It could happen again. It could be happening right now!_

Mustang took a quick step back to lessen the force of Ed's clumsy attempt to capture him. His first reaction was not to resist or evade; more than anything, he wanted to see where this would go.

"You just hold still." Ed's breath felt hot in his ear just before teeth took hold of the ridge of cartilage there and clamped down.

"Damn it! That hurts, Ed, stop it!" His arm flew up in a purely instinctive response to the pain just as Ed made an unexpected dodge to the right; by chance the back of his hand met squarely with the scarred, fragile jaw, sending Ed reeling.

The Major caught him, as much to prevent him from falling as to subdue him.

_It is the old bastard, _Ed thought, eyes watering from the unintentionally devastating blow. Not only did he lack the nasty odor, he smelled traces of the Colonel's aftershave, and it was the same as he remembered it.

It was worth taking the hit, because this man was not a threat, and he needed to pursue the issue now that his addled brain had finally put two and two together.

But was it all right to discuss it in front of Al, or what might not be Al at all? Was it too upsetting? Would it give his defenses away? Would revealing too much make Al reluctant to leave when the time came, and spoil his plan? Or give the masquerading enemy too much feedback on how well their devious methods worked?

Mustang held his ground, rubbing his pinched ear and staring at the conflicted young man held unresisting by the massive Major.

"Fullmetal, explain yourself."

Ed expected some barking, not that he cared, that was just the way Mustang dealt with him. But the question, while direct, was not at all angry. It almost sounded…sad, or disappointed, or something like that.

He wanted to ask why, why he wasn't mad, but it seemed like he shouldn't. The Major cautiously freed his hand and he rubbed the annoying impact point with it, trying to decide what to say.

He shrugged and shook his head,

Mustang sized him up, aware now that Al was on the verge of losing control.

"I'm sorry. That was my instinctive reaction to being bitten. I didn't intend to do that."

Al didn't know who to be more upset with, Ed or the Colonel. But at least the officer had apologized.

"I know. Or I'd have given you ten times worse back."

"Are you all right?"

"Shut up. I'm okay."

"Very well, then. And you, Alphonse? This is meeting your expectations?"

Al swallowed and nodded.

Mustang considered the situation. It looked like his appearance had them all on the defensive, and that reserved behavior was actually making them easier to control.

"Then you won't mind if I take a stroll with you all down the hall. I'd like to see how things will be going in a typical evening."

Ed's expression was a bit grumpy but he didn't object. He did, however, gather all of his courage to get a hand on Al and position himself boldly at his side.

"We're not going to follow you," Ed said, the tone in his voice less sure, sickly with worry.

"Fine. However you normally proceed, Major, Lieutenant. I'll just tag along."

"This is our first time going in as a group. Major?"

They made it a good ten feet down the hall before Ed lost his nerve, abandoning Al's side and trying to flee. The Major had to intervene heavily for the balance of the trip.

xxxxx

"There's nothing simple about it," Hawkeye agreed, moving papers on her desk to keep her hands occupied and nothing more. It wasn't the Colonel's habit to hover, but since leaving the scene of the boys' evening routine, he was too restless to sit for long. They'd been see-sawing back and forth, taking turns trying to break off their conversation and go back to work. But each time, the other would rise and follow.

"At least they haven't had to use the alert button. I was starting to wonder if they were going to need more help, at least for this first night. Havoc still says they can handle it. The space issue is going to…"

The trill of the phone interrupted. Hawkeye was quick to grab it.

It soon became apparent to the intuitive Colonel that the call was a personal one.

"I'm sorry, but I'd be glad to give Lieutenant Havoc another message. He is very busy…"

Mustang's eyebrows shot up and his hand came out, motioning with quickly wagging fingers for the handset.

Hawkeye frowned and covered the mouthpiece after asking politely for her caller to hold.

"Sir, it's Havoc's lady friend," she said reluctantly. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Just what I thought. Hand it here. That's an order," he said flatly, but there was a gleam in his eye she didn't care for.

She smacked the phone into his hand.

"Pardon me," he crooned in his deepest, buttery voice. "Miss, I'm afraid I owe you an apology."

He listened, followed by a flirty laugh that annoyed Hawkeye to no end.

"You have a delightful sense of humor. I don't know where the Lieutenant has been hiding you, but we will definitely need to meet sometime. The apology? Well. I have been monopolizing Havoc's time. It's unavoidable. So I hope that you'll place the blame on me. He never gets a chance to make his contacts. Yes, I am. But I promise, as soon as business is settled here, I'll make sure he gets in touch with you. "

Mustang was a bit puzzled. This was a hot, sultry, even slightly bitchy voice. Not at all like Havoc's usual dames.

She sounded totally intriguing. He would have to make it a point to get Havoc to introduce her. Something about her was so hot it was almost dangerous. On first impression, he wanted to see for himself, and backstop Havoc so he didn't chicken out.

The woman on the other end of the phone purred at him, asking questions without missing a beat, eventually making him wonder a little if she might be playing some sort of game.

Well, women were always playing, at least somewhat, in his experience. But still…

"His boss? You might say that, Miss. I'm his commanding officer. Yes? Colonel Roy Mustang, and you are..? Ah, that is a lovely name. And you sound like quite a lovely lady."

Her next comment was a little suggestive and he laughed again, this time with a touch of discomfort. She was certainly quick to shift her interest away from the man she had been arguably stalking for weeks now.

"You have a way with words. Yes, of course, we should chat again sometime. It's been a pleasure talking to you. Oh. Yes, Miss. Really? I'm…flattered. Goodbye."

He passed the phone back to Hawkeye and met her glare.

"When he goes to see her, I'd really like to meet her face to face."

"You're not even going to give him a chance, are you?"

"This person…she might be all wrong for him. I need to see for myself."

Hawkeye rolled her eyes.

"And she's just your type, is that it?"

"Not at all. You've been taking messages from her. What do you think?"

"I think she's a hundred times more interested and persistent than anyone he's been with so far. I think he's got a chance with her. That is, if he can avoid any outside interference."

"You think I'm just trying to interfere? I have his best interest at heart. Look, I even explained to her why he hasn't been able to call. Even though, if you think about it, he could have. He's had breaks. Opportunity. I'm covering for him. He should have returned her calls."

"There's more to calling someone than just having the time to dial a phone. He's been under a lot of stress and that's where his thoughts are. It just makes things worse if you call someone you're starting to get to know and you don't give them your proper attention, or you're in some off mood. Just because _you_ have that 'smooth operator' mode you can launch into just like that," she said, punctuating her words with a snap. "Most people don't have that. And certainly not when they're nervous and trying to start a relationship."

"All right, all right. You make it sound like I did something wrong. But I'm not convinced. This woman needs to be checked out before we let her get her claws into him." He tapped his fingertips on the edge of her desk, trying to chase down what it was, exactly, that sounded off in her conversation. Solaris. He should have asked where she was calling from. It sounded a bit odd, the quality of the phone connection. Echo-ey, yet flat.

Perhaps she was in a booth. It brought the image of a phone booth to mind; and with it, that heart-wrenching association with one of the greatest tragedies of his adult life. That unexpected flood of pain and self-recrimination put a halt to all of the banter. He would see to it that the woman was suitable, and that was that. He had no ulterior motive. And he wasn't in the mood to discuss it, or anything else, anymore. His concentration had to be fully focused on protecting his people, even when there was no apparent danger. The fatal blow could come at any time, anywhere. Had he been more diligent in watching out for Maes he should have been able to intervene, to prevent his murder.

He should have followed his instincts and gone looking for Fullmetal before so much time had passed.

The idea of Ed left hanging there, alone and dying, in the manner that they found him, haunted him daily since the incident and always split his gut with self-recriminating pain. How long had he been there, after being abandoned for dead? Minutes, hours? What went through his head in the silence, while mutilated, naked and helplessly feeling his life fade away; did he realize that no one had come to his defense, and was he crushed with feeling of abandonment as the likelihood grew that no one would ever come at all? Because clearly no one had stepped in to interfere with his captors; when they arrived it was barely in time to help him survive. It was only after the beasts had sated their lust for cruelty, taking every liberty they wanted with him, mind, body and soul, fully at their leisure without the bother of any intervention on the victim's behalf.

It was unforgivable that his own commanding officer's hesitation had allowed such a thing to happen.

"Colonel?" Hawkeye asked as he abruptly turned away, but even as the office door closed sharply, it was without comment. She sighed and shoved the phone back to its usual place on the desk. She supposed that he was actually doing pretty well, he could be a lot touchier and moody with all that was going on, and the tremendous responsibility that went with it.

But she would not be held accountable for what she would do to him if he stole Solaris away from poor Havoc.

Maybe she would just have to tag along on that little social outing, should it ever occur. Yes, that seemed like a very good idea.

xxxxx

Al's medication finally won out over his valiant struggle, and the tousled head was snuggled down to rest for the night.

Ed's exhaustion had yet to get the best of him. The sight of Al asleep set off a whole new set of dominoes toppling in his head, and the Major was helping him the best he could. It was taking everything he could think of, and Havoc, too, to keep Ed from losing control.

"It's dangerous. I should get…no. You should. You should get right there." Ed pointed to Havoc and then to Al's side.

"It's not dangerous, Edward. We're here to keep watch and help if you need us," the Major said, resettling again as Ed's unbalanced body weight slid back and forth restlessly against him. He pried open the automail fingers carefully and reset the grip on his forearm, hoping to anchor him physically as well as mentally. "Try to relax a bit. He'll be sleeping for quite some time. He's perfectly fine. We won't let anything happen to him. We will watch over both of you."

"Listen to me. Listen. You get right there. Right there. Then you can feel if he moves, and he's got the wall on one side and you on the other. That's best. That's safest," Ed railed on, ignoring the Major's reassurances.

"Buddy, I know we've shared a bunk a few times, but I'm not sure that Al would approve. I can keep a better watch like this anyway. We don't want to startle him if he wakes up with somebody there he's not expecting. That's the opposite of making him feel safe, isn't it? And that's a pretty small cot, I'd be squishing him."

"He's asleep!" Ed let go of Armstrong and pawed at the sides of his head, as if he couldn't contain the enormity of the concept in his brain without physical assistance. "Look at him!"

"It's all right. It's all right. What's bothering you, son? What is it?"

"Can't you see? He's just there!"

"I see Alphonse sleeping peacefully and safely. He looks very comfortable to me. What do you see, Edward?"

"No. No. That's not it. You have to keep checking him. Stop it!"

"He's not moving a lot, but he's moving, all right. See his chest? Watch now. See it rise and fall? He's fine."

Armstrong braced himself as Ed grabbed his shoulders with both hands and tried to shake him, rocking back and forth a bit to give the impression that there was actually enough force to make him move.

The effort exhausted Ed quickly, and he ran out of words, strung out on fear for and of the form lying on the strange cot set at a disturbing angle in the wrong part of the room.

They didn't understand, and he was getting so tired, soon no one with a clue would be left awake to make sure something bad didn't happen.

"Easy, now," Havoc joined the Major in pulling Ed back to his bed and applying the gentlest pressure to try and settle him down to rest.

Ed shook his head and resisted ineffectively, finally getting a sentence from his head to form on his lips.

"Don't turn your back to him, please. Watch him. Watch!"

Realization startled the Major, although he kicked himself at the same time for not figuring it out sooner.

"Edward. Do mean, be wary of him as well as protect him? Is that what you mean?"

"Be careful," Ed nodded, eyes closing in relief. They got it, after all. They were soldiers and a warning should be enough to keep them safe. He was losing his fight with sleep and they would have to take over his watch now. When he woke again, they should all still be here, and alive. Then he would resume his assessment of the person that seemed to be Al. He was much more convincing face to face than he was as a stationary object. He couldn't decide whether that was a sign that he was the genuine article or a flaw in an otherwise convincing counterfeit.

_It's Al, you're such an idiot!_ part of his brain, the part that hoped for normalcy, snarled inside.

The rest of his brain writhed like a bag of burning snakes in contemplation of falling helplessly asleep in the same room with an impostor. Only his desperate faith in the two men standing guard, and the sleeping medication, enabled the fatigue of the day to overtake him and let the world of awareness go staggering away.

xxxxxx

Gansworth's fingers twitched and the clipboard nearly flew out of his grasp. It wasn't that he was holding it carelessly. Fierce and excessive force magnified the slight mishandling of the object. Recognizing that fact, the doctor forced a deep breath and tried to regroup, consciously willing his hand to relax into something akin to a normal grip.

Signs of failing oxygenation were still developing despite his best efforts. The re-attachment was doing poorly. The prognosis was bad, the odds had been against them from the start.

This man was so young. It had been worth a try. But it was likely for nothing. By tomorrow it would be clear which path he would be taking. The limb couldn't be allowed to risk the boy's life, and if the infection that appeared to be starting could not be stopped, the result could be far worse.

Removal - amputation - would be the only answer. It would be best to reserve the surgery resources now.

A flash of positive inspiration hit him, almost startling him in his mood of remorse. Miss Rockbell might be entreated to join in and give him direction. It was known that, for those fortunate enough in their misfortune to have one at hand, an automail technician attending the amputation can provide the surgeon with specific guidance that would greatly aid in the success of automail installation later, when the mortal danger of the injury has passed.

The boy shifted and murmured, well out of it, and rightfully so. Before he had a chance to think, the doctor found himself patting the good hand to comfort him. It made no sense, and he quickly took up the hand in a businesslike manner to press the fingertips one at a time, to test the capillaries for refill response time. What was happening here?

So many horrible injuries had come to him for treatment, and he'd processed them all, efficiently without any sentimentalism. Why was he going so soft now?

"You're going to be fine. Do you know where you are? Corporal Bell?"

But as he suspected, the movement was far from a sign of consciousness.

This failure of a re-attachment wasn't a result of distraction or carelessness on his part, was it? Certainly, he'd been in haste when he prepared the dirty, raggedly severed limb for the surgery. But speed was important to the procedure, the passage of time increased the odds for infection and rejection. It had nothing to do with where he was supposed to be instead, and the clock on the wall breathing down his neck with every minute he went past the appointed hour.

He was being dishonest with himself. Of course, he had been acutely aware of his dilemma. It might have made him hurry a little more than he would have otherwise. But he had been as thorough as he was capable of, under the circumstances. It was bad luck, not poor procedure, that cause this. He had done everything to clean and disinfect the limb without going too far and spoiling its organic cohesion. So much rock and dirt. It truly was a long shot, at best, because of it.

The Corporal heaved a sigh in his sleep against the soft hiss of the oxygen mask. At least the drugs were keeping him blissfully unaware and comfortable for now.

While he never enjoyed telling someone bad news about their condition, it was part and parcel with the job. He felt that he did it admirably, explaining thoughtfully and factually, and helping the patient through the questions and emotions without the interference of some emotional bent of his own.

But a trickle of dread was leaking into his chest at the thought of revealing the failure and the traumatic prospect of amputation, of losing a limb not once but twice, and suffering from the false hope that it had been restored. It felt cruel and unfair.

He hated it. This was unacceptable. How could he hope to do his best under such conditions?

And worse, what if this change in his outlook wouldn't go away?

The Elric situation was the cause of this. He was certain of it. The endless stress, the intolerable daily angst and tragedy and suffering…and it wasn't even at its apex. Moving Ed into the larger environment was vital or Al would not hold up for long. He would have to fight Mustang but there was no way in the world that Ed would make it through that transition in one piece without serious, around-the-clock daily sedation for a week at minimum.

And still…for all the progress they'd made, Ed was still in the discovery stage, not recovery. He had most of his recollection back, erratic though it was, of the ordeal he had been through.

But there were some elements of the assault that he'd barely touched on, elements that the physical evidence painted a brutal but highly probably portrait of. It would be a test for all of them once Ed began to share those details. Gansworth suspected that the vicious, feral genius of the assailants had been applied in ways they would only understand once Ed remembered and related it to them. The injuries, while grossly damaging and consistent with criminal assaults of this type, had unexplicable elements that defied imagination.

A long, long haul. And they'd been at it so long already.

He flipped the toggle switch for the signal light above the door, changing it to yellow to let the staff know he was done with his exam and that the attendant was needed once again. Yes, he was being a bit over-cautious, but this was serious, and he felt much better about having a live human sit watch in case of suddenly rising fever, vomiting, seizure…

Passing the clipboard on to the orderly, he made his way straight to his office, even though he was behind and had no time to spare for a break.

_I can't let this get to me. I can't be coming undone so easily. Things are under control, there's just a great deal that must be addressed, and time is the critical factor. I must remain in control. _

"I will remain in control," he proclaimed aloud, smacking a fist down on his desk. He did a double-take and lifted his hand. He hadn't left any paperwork out; his personal clean desk policy was nearly an obsession.

"What's this?" he asked rhetorically, picking up the typed form and adjusting his glasses to see it properly.

A transfer form? He hadn't filled out such a form in months.

But someone had. The boxes were already checked, the posts of duty filled in, the only blank fields highlighted to show where he should sign to authorize the release.

He read through the bold text, the significance sinking in further with each ominous detail.

Edward and Alphonse Elric. To be transferred to the Psychiatric Unit in Central. Transportation to be provided by the receiving Unit. Date range of transfer - between five and ten days from final signature date of the approving supervising physician.

Submitted by order of Fuhrer King Bradley.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

It was very late, but Gansworth, mind working overtime, didn't take the usual cautions as he let the double doors drop shut behind him. It was beyond him to figure out how he'd managed to perform so quickly and efficiently, speeding through his rounds despite the distraction of the situation. The last stop, a re-check of Corporal Bell, weighed heavily on top of the mess he was struggling to sort out. There was no question now. The re-attachment of his limb was nothing less than a miserable failure.

His valise held the transfer orders, and he clutched the handle tight. The Colonel's reaction loomed before him; his thoughts turned inward to steel his nerves and somehow prepare for that next unpredictable challenge.

In all of his career he'd never had a patient completely removed from his care irrespective of his professional opinion. It played havoc with his previously firm notion that he had the control and power necessary to perform his duties as a medical officer, shaking his confidence to the very core.

A noise in the dark brought his attention abruptly back to his surroundings. Ill-prepared to react, when the man on duty materialized in the pool of artificial light to challenge him for his identification, he gasped and went down on one knee, dropping everything and raising his hands to ward off an attack.

"Slowly, sir, back on your feet," the young soldier said, warily and with little sympathy. "Keep those hands right where I can see them. I need to check your identification?"

Hands trembling, the doctor fumbled his badge from the clip on his pocket and held it out, barely managing his code words without stuttering.

The young man nodded and handed back the badge.

"Sorry to have startled you, sir. But you might want to pay more attention to what's going on around you while we're on alert. Where are you heading?"

He pointed to the lights of the main building, across the parking lot and another considerable expanse of dark, shadowy sidewalk.

"All right, sir. Have a good night."

Gansworth gathered up his valise and his wits, secretly wishing that the guard had offered to escort him to the building.

"Doctor?" Hawkeye asked, looking up from switching off the task lighting at the approach of rushed footsteps.

"Is he still in, Lieutenant?"

"Yes. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I just need to see him. It's important."

"Is that you, Doctor?" Mustang's voice boomed from the open door. "Come on in."

Hawkeye examined his identification and signaled her approval as she escorted him to the doorway.

"You're off then?" Mustang asked.

"Yes sir. Goodnight." Riza gently closed the door, stepping back to listen. Gansworth was clearly upset about something. The least she could do was to eavesdrop long enough to get a sense of whether the Colonel might need her to stick around after all.

Before Mustang could fire off his first question, Gansworth shoved the papers in his hands.

The Flame Alchemist's internal body temperature rose sharply as he carefully read through the document. He fully absorbed the words, the protocols and the signatures, and knew exactly what the paper was all about. He would have to do some follow-up…but his first priority was to determine to what extent this person, in whose hands he had placed responsibility for the Elric's very lives, was involved.

"Why would you do something like this, now of all times?"

"Why would _I_?" Gansworth asked, mouth falling open. He'd considered that the man would be angry, even suspicious, but to just immediately assume that he was responsible, without any discussion? "I did nothing of the kind!"

The Colonel's glare didn't waver.

"Colonel, I assure you. I found this on my desk. It obviously came from Central. I haven't even signed it yet!"

"Yet?" Mustang growled. "So you intend to sign off on this?"

"Stop, stop, wait. I don't even know what my options are here. Colonel, you tell me. This is by order of Fuhrer King Bradley himself. I've never seen such a thing, I don't know what the procedure is to lodge an objection, if that option even exists. I'm as unhappy about this as you are!"

"The Fuhrer ordered this?"

"Look at the bottom of the page."

"Aha." Already aware, Mustang took a few moments, letting it appear that he needed time to digest the importance of it. Gansworth looked upset; more than he would have expected from someone so clinical. It could be a put-on, a case of protesting too much. "You were asking about moving them earlier. So this must not be something you totally disagree with. It can't be that much of a shock to you, can it? You were making this recommendation yourself, if memory serves."

"Only to you, I've only discussed this with you, because you're Edward's guardian. You vetoed it, which is within your authority, and he has his privacy rights. I would never disregard your directives or that confidentiality. This, I think this might have come as a result of the last visit by Fuhrer King Bradley's emissary."

Mustang snorted. Calling Kimbley an emissary was giving the homicidal maniac far too much credibility.

"I guess it doesn't matter either way. Orders are orders. So I expect that you'll make the preparations as soon as possible, is that it? Have a few men get everything ready right away?" Mustang's keen eye watched for any flaw in Gansworth's performance after cleverely offering the very thing he might be angling for.

Gansworth gaped in astonishment. "It can't be that simple. I realize that your guardianship was appointed, but surely you can tell them we don't agree with their assessment! We both know this is not what's best for them!"

"A fight might not be in anyone's best interest. Is this all you received? Wasn't there a form with this to sign to transfer my guardianship? The paperwork is always the worst part. It's really a shame. I was planning on helping them to the end. But as you say, this is a direct order from the Fuhrer. There isn't much time, so I imagine we should start preparing them for the move straightaway."

"Colonel," Gansworth said, starting to doubt his own knowledge of the man before him. "Are you that certain that there's nothing you can do? I was going to suggest that we make a solid counter proposal first, at the very least. I can put it in writing, at least put them off for whatever time it takes for them to review the objection. And then you would have time to engage them in discussions. This needs to be negotiated somehow."

"Oh? Now this all seems odd to me, Doctor. Whether you told anyone else or not, I clearly remember that you think Fullmetal would be better off in a locked facility like Central's psych ward. Don't put up a fuss for my gratification. I know I snapped at you there a moment ago; I didn't mean to. This just caught me by surprise."

Gansworth's face creased in frustrated pain. "I know, and maybe I gave the Fuhrer's party the wrong impression when they were here. I didn't try hard enough to defend our ability to care for them."

A long silence met that comment, along with the sharp scrutiny of unblinking dark eyes.

Mustang always felt that his instincts were reliable when he consciously used them to assess people. But again, while Gansworth had the right answers with such believable angst, there was still something about him that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Well, it wouldn't make sense if you had. Why would you defend an unsuitable care situation?"

"What's important here is the present, Colonel. They need the stability and support that's developed for them here over time. I can make that case to Central if I have the chance. But there's nothing here about an administrative appeal, and I need your help if I'm to rebut this. I don't know the protocols for questioning a directive of this magnitude!"

"I still don't know. Sometimes I believe you. But it's never without the shadow of doubt."

The doctor's glasses flashed reflected light when his startled head reared up. Mustang's steepled fingers propped a bemused face.

"I don't understand, Colonel," Gansworth said, not sure that he'd heard correctly.

"The paper you've given me is serving the only purpose it's suited for, I think."

Gansworth's cheeks reddened. So the man had doubts, and only believed him sometimes? All this argument was really just to see if he was lying? There was no time to waste on such foolishness; this issue needed full and immediate attention!

"What do you mean? Explain it to me!"

"Tell me something. When you discussed packing the boys up again today, supposedly before you saw this…"

"Packing them up, yes - to change their room. I was discussing a change in rooms, the difficulty, the impact, how hard it would be on them…and that's nothing compared to a transfer like this. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. This kind of a change could conceivably throw Edward into a state where institutionalization is the only appropriate care possible for a very long time. I certainly wasn't just casually planning for it. Wait, what do you mean, the paper is serving its purpose? Is this conversation the purpose? Is this some kind of joke?"

"No. No joke."

"Then explain to me what's going on. I don't understand. What are we going to do about this?"

"You don't think they should transfer. You think they belong here."

"That's what I've been saying. Don't you agree? Yes, in my professional judgment, they're going through some difficult processes and they're very vulnerable. In the face of unfamiliar circumstances, they absolutely need those trusted few who care for them on a daily basis."

"I see." Mustang said. "We won't be transferring them, then."

This wasn't even close to the conversation Gansworth had envisioned, and it didn't make a lot of sense even now. Even thought the Colonel was finally saying something he agreed with, he couldn't quite trust his ears.

"Simple as that? You have that authority, you're sure? Because we may need to prepare a comparative care study and submit substantiation …"

"Did this come to you through normal channels?"

Gansworth blinked, silenced as he paused a moment to take a calmer look at the mechanics of how this whole situation landed in his lap, no longer blinded by his alarm at the potential effect of the orders. He tried to analyze the broader circumstances. A form of this nature with confidential patient information left face up, unattended, dropped unceremoniously on his desk. No envelope or mail jacket; no routing slip or note, and just a stop number on the reverse, hand-written, to guide him in returning it after signature. Not entirely unique, had it been a requisition or routine paperwork. But official correspondence and orders from Central invariably came in a green and white jacket clearly stamped "confidential" in red, and the hospital's administrative office attached tracking slips if they didn't actually hand-deliver the documents and pick them up in person.

"Didn't think so," Mustang said softly after the silent pause grew too long. "Leave this to me. You just keep seeing to the Elrics, like you have been."

"But I need to give some sort of reponse. It could be considered insubordination if I don't."

"Listen to me closely. I want you to disregard the request. Act like you never saw it. Don't mention it to anyone else. If you get any additional communications about this - phone calls, messages, follow-up orders - you make note of how you received it, in detail, and then come directly to me. Only to me. I'm ordering you to keep this confidential, as your superior and as Edward's guardian. Understood?"

"You want me to simply ignore it? How can you be sure that will work?"

"You just keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut on the subject. Beyond that, this is my concern and I will pass on to you any information that I think is important. Leave it at that for now."

Dissatisfied in a way, but relieved on a larger scale, Gansworth nodded with a slight frown. I sounded like Mustang believed that this was fully within the scope of his control, whatever this might be. But he didn't want to end up on the receiving end of a court martial for insubordination if the man was wrong, either.

"Just keep this in mind, Doctor. No order from the Fuhrer is binding just on a rubber stamp with his name, no matter if it includes the official seal. All of the documents that require signature receive a stamp from the clerk who handles the forms but the wet signature is mandatory - and by regulation, it's supposed to be original and in blue ink only."

Gansworth, who had applied a million wet signatures in his day, realized that he knew that on such a basic, back-of-his-mind level that he didn't think about it when he looked at the form.

But he would certainly start screening for that detail now. He wondered, briefly, if anything he had done in the past was on invalid orders, and if so, what those actions might have been.

Mustang, champing at the bit, rose to lead him out.

"But if this wasn't an order from the Fuehrer, then who..?"

Mustang held up a hand, shaking his head, cutting him off immediately.

"Leave this to me, don't involve yourself any further. Try not to worry. Look at it this way. We just happen to have a two-man watch around the clock already. So there's no need to double security. Perhaps you should go look in on them and see if things look right to you. I don't think I have to tell you that it would be wise to stay alert. And I want you to report to me with anything out of the ordinary, anything that might seem relevant, no matter how small or insignificant."

"Yes. Of course." The Colonel's larger frame nearly bumped his, shepherding him out the door as soon as he was on his feet, scarcely waiting for him to snatch up his valise.

Mustang leaned against Hawkeye's desk and waited until Gansworth was out of sight before turning to face her concerned, questioning look. It came as no surprise to him that she was still there; in fact he would have been surprised if she had left.

"Get Breda and Fuery in my office first thing tomorrow. I want to meet with the three of you as soon as possible. Now would be a good time for you to take off, Lieutenant."

"Of course," she said with a wry smile, gathering up her things immediately to go tail the doctor, unspoken message clearly received.

xxxxxxx

"Let me see it, Lieutenant."

"It's nothing, just a bruise."

"Sit down and pull up your pant leg."

"He's been favoring his right arm as well," Armstrong tattled again, earning a half-hearted glare from Havoc.

"How did this happen?" Gansworth asked, adjusting his spectacles and probing the swelling, observing the severity of the flinch.

"It's my own fault. I caught my foot on the chair and tripped over the table."

"During an altercation?"

"Sort of."

"I need to know about any acts of aggression…"

"No! It wasn't anything like that. Back me up here, Major."

This was not something he'd expect see, not with a man as capable as Havoc. It was a good thing he'd decided to swing by the room in the early hours, just to check in. He wouldn't have normally, but it was on the way to get Miss Rockbell, who had agreed to consult on Bell's amputation surgery this morning.

"There's no question, then. This is not a workable environment. We have to make some changes. This room is too cramped and has too many obstacles for safety."

"Look, it's my own fault. I got careless, I dropped my guard. I thought they were down for the night, that's all. You don't need to make any changes on my account."

"The good doctor is right," Armstrong rumbled seriously. "Besides, if you can sustain this kind of minor damage from the paucity of space, with your superior physical condition, what of the Elric brothers?"

"Just so," Gansworth said with a nod to the massive Major. "My concern, exactly. I know that moving them may be even more disruptive for Edward than what he's going through now. But we have the reality that this is not a very safe situation for anyone."

He was starting to share Edward's aversion to the exposure of the windows in the hall, adding weight to his decision to move them as soon as practical.

"What if he won't cooperate?" Havoc asked.

"We won't ask for his cooperation. That's far too much to expect of him, Major. We'll move him under sedation, similar to the process we used in re-introducing Alphonse. What time did they go down?"

"Shortly after eight."

"Be sure to start waking them by six. I want them fed, cleaned up and exercised by eleven. I have other obligations in the morning and that's the earliest I can reasonably expect to be free. When I get here I'll be medicating Edward straight off. As soon as he's out you can take him down and get him situated in the other room. While you take care of him I'll stay here with Alphonse and prepare him as best I can with a therapy session, while we have the time and the peace and quiet. Until then I don't want this discussed. It's just going to happen and we'll retain full control of the situation before and after. "

Gansworth snapped his case shut and gave a last tug to the elastic bandage he'd wrapped on Havoc's leg.

"Elevate that and apply a cold compress off and on for an hour or so. It's not serious but let's not push it.. I'm sure you're familiar with the drill. Alert me if you get to feeling worse."

With a grumbling, reluctant thanks, Havoc caved to the Major's stern look and the doctor's beleaguered sigh, taking to the empty bed to prop up his aching limb.

xxxx

"Initially he will be very heavily sedated. But in the coming days, we'll start reducing your brother's medications. I'm going to step down the dose very, very slowly. Some stages will be more difficult than others, so this is all going to play out by ear. His reactions are instinctive at this point and his energy will likely increase before his ability to reason. You shouldn't put too much thought into his behavior while we're in the intermediary stages. The simplest interpretations are the best. You move towards him and he jumps away, then what you're seeing is most likely a threat response. But it doesn't signify that he's identified you as a threat or that he's holding some grudge or that there's some deep reasoning behind it. We're talking about very, very basic perceptions here, at the level of seeing and reacting to sudden movement, irrespective of whether the source is a person or an object. I would compare it to reacting to something out you catch out of the corner of your eye. Does that make sense to you?"

"But he'll get better, right? Once you get him off this medicine?" Al fidgeted, still nervous and slightly upset after watching them drug Edward and take him away without being allowed to accompany him.

"Well…the pattern I'm describing is the one that he tends to revert to most often under duress. We've stressed him pretty severely with all of the changes. I would not be surprised if he's difficult to control for some time after we taper off the tranquillizers. Until he calms down and gets his feet back under him he may not be able to stay connected with us on a rational level with any kind of consistency. That is the primary reason for resorting to this unfortunate level of medication in the first place. I wouldn't recommend it for him otherwise. But in this situation, it's the best option. He's safe and manageable now, and there is a chance that by weaning him off the medication slowly, it will ease the transition and help him to become more secure in his new surroundings."

"The way he acts when he's doped up is so different. But, I mean, if this is the best…you're sure?"

Gansworth had an entire dissertation go off in his head about the surety of medical choices. No, you couldn't be sure, ever. Only in hindsight could all of the pitfalls and alternatives come to light. This seemed like the right course of action but they might look back later and see that it did far more damage than good.

But none of that was fitting to saddle Alphonse with, his bright, wet eyes beseeching and afraid, his shoulders pinched with worry. He had something he needed to hear.

"This is the best way I know of to get him acclimated while minimizing the risk to his mental and physical wellbeing. And keep in mind, we still have the respiratory infection to deal with, too. He has to be able to rest enough to convalesce. It's extremely important. If his condition deteriorates, most likely he will have to be transferred to the infirmary. And then we start the adjustment period all over again when he gets released."

Al was nodding in understanding, hanging on his every word; with an expression of relief and trust, mixed with a desperate dependency that almost made the doctor feel guilty for engineering it.

"I'm glad you explained things to me. I can handle it. I can help him a lot better when I know what's going on."

"I want you be honest and tell me when your stress levels are getting too high. This has to be wearing on you harshly."

"No. No, I…I'm okay."

"We're going to have these talks more often, because they'll likely be short out of necessity. We need to stay focused in order for shorter sessions to have any value, so keep track of anything you want to discuss and be ready for next time. And whenever it's possible I'll be sure to let you know ahead of time when I'll be making any changes that impact the two of you."

"Okay."

"And you plan to apologize to Lt. Havoc for this morning?"

Al blushed. "Yes."

"You realize now that he was just making sure that everyone was safe?"

"I do, I just…I just overreacted."

"We both know that he understands your issues, but it's still important to maintain a civil relationship and treat him with proper respect. If you slip, it's a slip, and we can recognize it as such and deal with it. But in the end you don't want to get into the habit of expecting others to tolerate unpleasant treatment from you as a matter of course."

"I'll apologize."

"Let me ask. Do you feel like I'm forcing you to apologize?"

"No, no, I feel bad about it. I want to. I shouldn't have acted that way."

"That's good, then." Gansworth wished it were as simple to deal with Havoc and get him to stop covering up for Al's transgressions. Everyone was aware that Al acted out as result of his syndrome; the purpose in being strict and correcting him was healthy behavior modeling, not punishment.

"I'll be better with more space to breathe in. You'll see."

"I know. Edward is better off there, too, in the long run. It's just a matter of getting through the transition phase safely."

Gansworth smiled mildly. The guilty relief now painting the young man's face was predictable, exactly as he'd expected, and he felt like he had a handle on the situation again. Even when the predictions were not exactly pleasant, it was far better to have some grasp of what was coming than to be caught off-guard.

As unpleasant as the next steps would be, it was the best he could do under the circumstances. At least there had been no discernable repercussions for ignoring the transfer orders. Either the Colonel had intervened despite his claim that such would not be necessary, or his suspicion of fraud was accurate. Either way, he wished he knew what the true story was. It left a specter of vague worry and wondering in the back of his mind, and the last thing he needed was to manufacture imagined threats when so many vital decisions demanded his full attention. He'd already forced himself to dismiss the possibility that Mustang had engineered the entire thing as some sort of cruel test of loyalty. He could ill afford that burden of extreme distrust on top of everything else, not without solid proof.

It would be weeks before that worry would allow itself to be pushed to the back recesses of his mind.

Xxxxx

Ed was clinging again, trying to act as a human anchor to prevent his brother from standing.

The Major gently forced his way in between them, using the coat and a firm, reassuring grip to achieve his goal.

There weren't any words, but Ed's forlorn whimper communicated his feelings eloquently.

"I'll be right back," Al said, his tone nearly as mournful. He staggered slightly, legs stiff from spending the last hour locked in his brother's stranglehold. Any movement Al made threatened to be the one that meant separation; and for Ed, courage liquefied and perceptions dimmed by the perpetual limbo of heavy tranquillizers, the prospect of that loss was just too much.

"Easy does it," Havoc smiled, trying to ease Al's worries while catching his elbow to steady him.

Al jerked away, a reflex to unwanted contact. Being trapped in Ed's grip day after day made him hypersensitive, recoiling in claustrophobic aversion to the concept of more people holding onto him.

Cursing and apologizing under his breath, Al kept going the few feet it took to get inside and close the restroom door.

It was so hard, in the most unexpected ways. He stared in the mirror, shaking his head. It was good, for him, anyway, that Ed's room was so unreasonably small that the move to the larger room had been supported almost immediately. It really was a safety issue, totally unrelated to his personal wishes. The guilt at feeling happy and relieved about moving to more spacious quarters was purely his internal issue.

And it was a similar thing with Ed's drug regimen. The move required extreme sedation; even the Colonel had to agree that there was no other way to pull it off.

So was it bad that Al, for the most part, was getting a great deal of emotional benefit from caring for a doped-up, needy, insecure, almost cuddly, if sometimes overly clingy Ed?

Ed was latched on and looking to him for warmth, support and caretaking as much as his chemically-fogged reasoning would allow. As heavy as the dosages were, Ed was incapable of getting food into his own mouth or taking care of his personal needs without a great deal of help. All that stubborn, egotistical resistance to being cared for was simply not an issue. He seemed to be satisfied when Al fed him, appeared deeply comforted when he cared for him, needed him close to be secure when he sat or lay next to him, and held on tight even when nothing much was going on.

This was more along the line of what he had expected way back when the severity of Ed's condition was first revealed to him. This was the job he was prepared to take on from the start.

But in all honesty, it felt dishonest to welcome the open responses, the unguarded gratitude and naked exposure of his helplessness and need. Ed, the 'normal' Edward, would never allow himself such indulgence. He might thank you for helping him, but always with the whiff of slightly injured pride, as if it were some sin or inexcusable weakness to accept assistance.

Still, he hadn't made any of the decisions about what drugs his brother should be on or how much or how often. That was all between the Colonel and Dr. Gansworth. He had no control, and the guilt was as much his dirty little secret as his feelings of indulgence were.

He'd just have to get past the nagging feeling that this was no better than taking illicit advantage of a passed-out drunk.

"Okay in there, buddy?"

Al could have predicted that call and insistent knock. They were both under tight watch, Ed in his head-lolling unpredictability and himself in his oddly exclusive focus on Ed's every move.

"Just checking for zits in the mirror. Give me a minute." Al got on with his business and gifted Havoc with all the right sounds of porcelain, plumbing and hand washing right away.

When he opened the door Havoc was right there; but he was shushed before he could react with irritation at being so tightly supervised.

"Doc just got here. No sudden moves, okay? The Major kind of has his hands full, he might need your help. And kid…just so you know…once things are under control, you can step out for a little while."

Al wanted to ask if that meant what he hoped it did, but illogically, he also wanted to wait and put off the disappointment in case the answer was negative.

Havoc saw it in his eyes and smiled, glad for the rare chance to give Al a little news that made him happy.

"She's here. Like the Doc said, unless there's some odd situation that comes up, he'll make sure you can spend a little time with her whenever possible while he does Ed's checkups. He's been pretty true to his word."

Al breathed a sigh of relief. Winry was the one person whose presence made him feel free, if only briefly. Time with her felt like being released from his cage. She was the doorway back to real life, proof that it was still out there, beyond the nightmares of burial and the reality of around-the-clock surveillance and detention.

If only Ed had something like that, maybe it could center him, bring him to a point where he could gain enough sense of himself to leave this place behind. Maybe he could come to see his little brother as the portal back to a peaceful life.

"Come on now," Havoc urged gently, bringing the boy's eyes back into focus. "Let's go help Ed."

xxxxxxx

"You annoy the hell out of me, too," Greed smirked, enjoying Envy's extreme irritation and discomfort with his presence. "But I really had to see this for myself."

"Jealous?" Envy hissed, sincerely wishing his unexpected company would disappear.

"That's not exactly a sight to behold."

"Idiot! What do you expect? He hasn't had anything to eat in three days. Of course he's going to be a little sloppy."

"Whoa, now, I'm just making an observation. Poor little thing. You should try getting something smaller or cut it up for it first."

"Fuck you. What makes you an expert on child-rearing? Oh, wait, that's right. Nothing. Because you don't have any. And you never will."

"Hey, maybe I'll just decide to have a couple myself."

"No, you won't! This was something only I can pull off!"

"I think it has more to do with the composition of who you pulled it off with. It really is Fullmetal's, huh? That stubborn little brat, I couldn't believe it when I heard that he survived. You're pretty cold, I'll give you credit for that. I thought he was a goner when you hung him up by those wires in the back of his neck. Which was pretty inventive, I have to admit."

"Why did you leave? You're such a weakling. You didn't even stay long enough to watch the best part, what makes you think you could do it yourself?"

"Watching and doing are two different things. And your methods are the problem. It got to the point where I didn't see the point anymore."

Rage rolled and struggled with the weight of the full-grown adult corpse, clearly having difficulty and making more of a mess than getting anything ingested.

Envy sighed. He would have already stepped in to help if Greed wasn't there. He was hoping that Rage would go into a feeding frenzy and knock out his first full-size meal like a boss, but it was apparent that he just wasn't ready for that next step in development.

There was actually no shame in admitting that, Envy decided, and with a sigh explained to Greed that this was indeed the first time he'd given the tad such a large treat whole.

"Aha," Greed said, folding his arms and watching with great curiosity as Envy stepped in to assist, snatching away the body and mincing it into manageable chunks, raining them down for Rage to pluck from the air and devour without hesitation.

"Wow."

"He's growing up, all right."

"How's that going to work?" Greed asked, brows knit in deep thought. "It only sees people when you feed it, right? How's it going to act when you take it out on the street? Or do you plan to have it live underground all its life?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's going to be like a piranha when it sees all that fresh food walking around, don't you think?"

Envy frowned, angry that he really hadn't thought of that, and irritated that Greed saw the potential problem so easily.

"He's not stupid. He'll learn," Envy grumbled.

"Heh," Greed chuckled. "I'd be a riot if it ran into Fullmetal and just ate him right off. Munch, munch, munch – hey, Mom, now where's this Dad you were talking about? Heh heh."

Greed dodged and leapt well out of the way as Envy lashed out at him in half-hearted annoyance, still contemplating the problem, if it really was one. Well, there was lots of time to figure it out, Rage was still a long way from being ready to take out into the human world.

"So long, thanks for the show," Greed called as he began trudging away, deciding he'd seen all he needed to. "Beautiful eyes, I'll say that for it. Beautiful, beautiful eyes."

xxxxxxxx

"I'm sorry," Winry said, smiling sadly. She'd seen this a hundred times if she'd seen it once, and it was always difficult for her, to say nothing of how hard it was for the patient.

Corporal Bell tried to put on a tough front, but the severed nerves were giving him false feedback and incredible pain that medication barely touched. All while coping with emotional distress and shock, as the reality of his loss sank in.

He'd had plenty of well-wishing visitors and better times up until now. The first massive regimen of medication had kept him calm and somewhat comfortable while his weakened body battled the mortal risks of such a major injury, postponing the inevitable suffering that recovery would bring.

But there was something a little more when he squeezed her hand each time she offered it in sympathy. Something in his eyes besides pain, as well. It made her heart suggest that if she spent more time with him, somewhere down the road it might consider skipping a beat.

That was far too much to contemplate. She freed her hand and used it to push the call button. Anything beyond a professional relationship was completely out of the question. It wasn't that she felt strongly about crossing that line between automail mechanic and patient; obviously, or she couldn't have treated Ed, one of her two most treasured friends in all the world. But her situation here was complicated enough without this.

It was a function of spending time with him, maybe too much time. This handsome young man was in a vulnerable state and she was always there, with nothing else to do but try to cheer him up and on.

She was pulled in all directions, not free to go or stay without disappointing someone important no matter what she decided to do.

Granny's communications were getting less and less subtle; she was sorely needed at home to catch up on the backlog of service calls once the urgency here lessened. It came as no surprise; she always knew that she couldn't just camp out here endlessly.

Al needed her, but he was tied up day and night with Ed. Ed still had to be mislead and her presence hidden from him, but he did need work from time to time, even if she had to do it while he was under general anesthetic. And all in all, a short trip back home was going to be unavoidable at some point.

She turned over Bell's care to the responding nurse and quickly slipped away. He was getting excellent care. He'd be fine, better even, if she resisted the urge to hover over him so much. It would just be harder on him if he came to expect her constant attention and she had to leave.

But poor Al. With each visit, it became clearer just how taxing it was to deal with Ed around the clock, and he was still largely in denial of his own trauma and erratic behavior. This was such a difficult time for him. Granny would just have to be patient a little longer.

xxxxxx

"This will take a bit. You can go ahead; he's close enough."

Al hesitated, but only for a moment. Ed was on the verge of being completely out, no longer aware of his surroundings and his brother's whereabouts. Gansworth was uncovering a tray with neatly organized needles vials, and sealed sterile instruments, getting ready for something Al had no great desire to sit in on. It was bad enough that on most of the doctor's visits where Ed needed to be awake and fully aware, they required his help to keep his brother in control; forcing him to deal with both the disappointment of not seeing Winry, and the distress of being a participant in further insult to Ed's embattled mind and body.

And welcome relief was waiting, just outside in the next room. He suppressed the urge to wave at the mirror and hopped up to follow Havoc, reminding himself to go quietly in case Ed wasn't as unaware as he appeared to be.

Winry's welcoming smile warmed away all the cold doubt that came to dwell in his heart from the seemingly endless hours of Ed's misery and madness.

He stood over her until she rose from the table and allowed him to engage her in a proper hug.

"You look tired," Al worried.

"Eh. At least I'm staying busy. More important, how are you doing? Looks like things are about the same."

"How long have you been here?" Al asked, gazing back through the one-way glass. A muffled thump came as a reminder that he was being granted only limited privacy. Havoc was now leaning against the closed door, stationed alertly outside.

Oddly, instead of feeling resentful, he felt safer. From what, he had no idea.

"I came with Dr. Gansworth."

"Oh. Yeah. So I guess you saw us..."

Winry nodded, frowning slightly. "Was all that because you got too far away from him?"

"Yeah. My fault. I thought the Major had him distracted and I was just trying to move out of the way. I should have kept a hand right on him until they got him ready for his procedure. I will next time. It isn't always that bad."

"At least he wants to be with you, Al. He really seems to take a lot of comfort from having you there. I think it would have been a lot worse."

"I know. I don't think he can help it, he just doesn't have any self-control when he's doped up. And I know it scares him to feel so helpless. Crazy or not, that's always been like his number one fear. He's not stupid, either. He knows when an assistant comes in with a cart like that, they're going to do something to him, and they'll probably have to knock him out for it."

Al followed Winry's lead and sat next to her, reluctantly facing the glass and the scene in the room.

"I'd ask when they're going to take him off of all the drugs, but it looks like he's really not ready. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Nah," Al said softly, sounding a little distant. "No, he's clumsy and he gets frantic, so it looks bad, but all he was really trying to do was hang on and keep himself in between me and…the world, I guess."

The doctor's body and white coat concealed, for the most part, the particulars of what he was doing. After he deposited the stained sponges and vials full of dark red liquid on the tray one at a time, he bent over to continue, so it didn't take much to figure it out that he was doing more than taking samples.

"That's so Ed," she sighed in affectionate frustration. She winced at the scene on the other side of the mirror.

Al saw her reaction but didn't feel inclined to ask what caused it.

"I know we can see everything from here, but I have a front-row seat all the time. You go ahead and watch if you want. There's nothing like seeing some of the things they have to do to him firsthand, if you're trying to understand how it is."

Their conversation slowed as she watched, distracted, until it wound down to silence.

He fell to looking at his hands for several minutes before it dawned on him that he was letting the too-brief time slip away, squandering the meager minutes of opportunity to gaze at the face he was beginning to realize he missed most of all. The silence was a little strained; he could tell that she was struggling for something to say.

He interrupted her before she could make what was obviously going to be an expression of sympathy, to get the conversation moving on a subject he had no small amount of curiosity about.

"So he's been keeping you busy with that guy, huh? Doing what?"

"Well, there isn't too much to actually do yet. But I think it's really helpful to have someone to talk to that knows the ropes. It's a shock in so many ways, when a person loses a limb. People get scared and they get depressed. Even with the idea that with automail, they'll be able to do pretty much anything they could before. But it's not the same, of course, that's the thing. There's no true sense of touch. You're always going to be missing the sensations of a normal limb."

"So then, what are you doing with him, exactly?"

"I've got lots of time on my hands, so I spend some of it with him, you know, just keeping him company and answering his questions for now. We'll be starting on some physical therapy soon. He's healing up fast. He's no Ed, of course, nobody goes roaring through it like Ed did, but he's got a lot of courage. It kind of surprised me; he has this great sense of humor in spite of everything. I mean, obviously, he's not feeling well enough to cut up very often, but when he does it's a riot. His buddies kind of get him going when they visit. It's awesome that he has that kind of support; they're a great group of guys. I think you'd like them a lot!"

If Winry wasn't mistaken, Al did not appear to be pleased.

"Gee. You sure seem to be having a good time with him," Al said darkly.

"Wait. What? It's okay, I mean...no...I just enjoy helping him."

"You really like being with him, then."

"He's a good guy. And what else am I supposed to do, anyway? I can't come see you when Ed's awake and I can't come see you when you're asleep."

"I guess." Al couldn't deny that it was jealousy that was rumbling in his guts. Not just Bell, now it was his whole circle of friends fraternizing with her? He couldn't quite decide how important it was to hide his disapproval from her.

Until he saw her expression, and suddenly, he began to doubt himself. He might chase her away with such a heavy-handed attitude. It wasn't like she'd declared any true romantic feelings. Everything he was hoping for was teetering on one kiss, one kiss he had to admit they both backed away from immediately, both making thin excuses.

"You're not upset about that - are you? About my helping him? It really isn't all that different from what I do in the shop at home."

"No. No, I'm sorry...it's all this...that's all. It's the thing with Ed. It gets me off balance. I shouldn't let it get to me when I'm with you, though. This is the only time I have to take a break from it and just enjoy your company."

"I know it has to be hard on you. It doesn't look like he wants to let you go for a single minute."

"He doesn't. I'm it. I'm his whole world right now."

"Maybe it's just until he can come off the medication."

"I thought that, too. But the doctor says the shock of the move on top of everything else might have been too much and it could really set him back bad. You ought to be prepared, too, just in case. This might last a long time. Could be weeks, months...I don't even want to think about whether this could be permanent."

Winry nodded. He'd already told her the same thing, twice at least, during these brief visits. The doctor had also told her about Ed's condition but he had not emphasized the possibility that Ed was at risk of being "stuck." She was beginning to wonder if it wasn't that Al was afraid that Ed would not change, but instead, he was hoping on some level that things would stay like this, his brother fiercely attached to him beyond all reason.

"It's not all bad news. Did you know that I can get him to eat all his meals? All of them! He's gained almost three pounds! And he does his exercises; I just have to do them with him. I think that problem with his shoulder is just a tiny bit better. You should go in and look at it. Really."

Al was talking faster, louder, getting that slightly manic tone, the one that meant he was experiencing a surge of uncontrollable optimism bordering on delusion as his thoughts spun all the negatives into a positive light.

"That's good, Al, don't forget we have to talk softly when we're in here. I think they're finishing up already."

"He's out, he can't hear us. As a matter of fact, let's go in now. I'll go first, I'll check, I'll make sure it's all right. You should look do an exam and see what I'm taking about. He's supposed to be your number one patient, you know. He's the reason you're here. Not for those military jerks. I don't even know why they think they can you use you like that. After everything they've done. You should just tell them no. Let 'em bring in their own bio-mechanics or whatever, I know they've got 'em somewhere."

"Okay, I believe you. Calm down. Go ask, then, please. I can't just go waltzing in there and risk having him see me."

"Yeah. Sorry. I know he goes all nuts when we talk about bringing you to see him, but I'm sure he'll get over it soon. You're family to him, it's just the crazy sick part talking."

"Right. Al, please. Go ask."

Winry gnawed her knuckle when Al finally left the room, watching as he fumbled in the doorway after coming face–to-back with the forgotten presence of Havoc. He was still so unpredictable, so easy to touch off. He was the best thing for Ed in theory…but now that they were together, she was starting to wonder if it was wise to have them together all the time. As a role model, Al was a bag of cats right now. And as insecure and confused as Ed was, it seemed almost cruel to give him someone unreliable to rely on so completely.

It would crush Al to think that he was still a damaging influence. And Ed was solidly attached at this point, reliable or not. So she elected to keep this opinion to herself and resolved to stay alert and continue to keep a close watch.

Both Al and Dr. Gansworth were directing their gazes at the mirror and waving her in even as Havoc was coming in to escort her; Ed was motionless on the bed, all bandaged up; no doubt still fully unconscious, as expected before such an invitation could be issued.

It was time to see if any of Al's claims were true.

xxxx

Drowsy and unwilling to let go of the things that felt warm, familiar and comfortable, Ed buried his head in Al's back and pulled with both hands.

"Nuh-uh."

"I wasn't going anywhere." Al turned carefully, because his brother was clinging with his body positioned awkwardly, leaning too far forward to maintain balance without help. "You shouldn't get up so fast, Ed. You all right?"

The sedated blond head pressed into him harder, squirming around.

"With me."

Al sighed.

"You mean, stay with you?"

"Don't leave me alone!"

"I won't. I wasn't going to."

"Easy on your brother, Ed…" Havoc started to help support Ed and got a clumsy swat on his arm for the effort.

"Get off me. Let go."

"Ed, don't be like that," Al said, intercepting the next attempt to flail out at Havoc. "Watch out, you'll rip out your stitches."

"I was just trying to keep you from falling, buddy. That's all," Havoc explained.

More cranky and possessive than anything else, Ed was relatively manageable at this level of reduced medication.

Still well under the influence, he still didn't seem to have noticed where he was, much less that he was no longer in his old room.

"Don't go."

"I said I wasn't!"

"Are you sure you have this?" Armstrong worried, hovering, convinced that Ed was more defensive when Havoc tried to help than when he did.

"Maybe you should wait a few more minutes. It's not like him to be late…"

Havoc was interrupted by the subject of their conversation, out of breath as he hustled in and then hesitated. The sudden flurry of movement startled Edward, and his wide-flung grab to pull Al back sent them off-balance, the Major barely snagging them before they toppled over completely.

"Sorry, sorry!" Fuery said as Havoc took his ID, the Major and the boys sorting themselves out across the room.

"Word to the wise, he's not as sedated and he's pretty easy to set off. It's kind of a mixed bag stage right now. He's more active but his thinking is still all doped up. So you'll need to be careful."

Fuery straightened himself out and joined Havoc in approaching the disentangling threesome.

Ed's alarm had downgraded to irritation; he wasn't letting Al move from behind him, though. Armstrong waited patiently for his relief man to take over, in no hurry to have a problem over a few minutes' laxity.

"The Master Sergeant's here, time to let the poor Major take a break," Havoc interjected lightly.

"Poor Major?" Ed repeated, caught off-guard by that point of view. The Major needed a break?

"It's fine, lad, I just have some other business to attend to," Armstrong said with an exaggerated cheerfulness that would never have been convincing to a fully cognizant Ed.

"Yeah, he's okay," Al said, watching Ed's sudden look of worry in case it morphed into something worse.

"You're sure? Is it okay?"

Al nodded, taking up where the Major left off, pulling Ed along slowly back to his bed to sit. "I'm watching them, too. We'll make sure nothing happens to them."

"Right. Right." Ed switched gears without warning and faced Al. staring at him hard until he came into focus.

A couple of uneasy seconds ticked by until Ed held up his hands to repeat an old familiar gesture, inviting Al to come at him and spar. Al had been pleased to see it at first. They didn't do much more that push and pull at one another to make sure than no one got hurt, and with Al subtly taking control it was the perfect method to work all the muscles necessary to support the automail and slowly build back some general strength for both of them. But Ed was repeating this so often since the behavior surfaced he was getting uncertain about the wisdom of complying every time. It seemed like every time his brother regained enough consciousness and energy to get to his feet and form a decent thought, this was what he wanted to do.

"One more time and we'll do it slow and easy. But then that's enough for today, huh? You're still healing and you haven't been back at this that long. You don't want to have a setback."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on, come on, go left. Push back," Ed mumbled, launching into his moves with grim, if slightly groggy, determination.

Fuery lifted a questioning eyebrow and Havoc nodded. It was fine if Ed initiated his exercises and it didn't hurt Al to participate, so long as they didn't overdo it. Al's success at getting Ed to take in nourishment throughout the day was starting to show some results. Playing off one another, Al to help his brother and Ed for reasons they could only guess, the synergy had them moving, finally, in the right direction.

"One exception - we nip it in the bud if Ed starts wanting to actually spar," Havoc whispered. "You see anything that looks like a chop or a thrown punch and it's over. Step in right away."

Ed's hands slipped and he winced; Al backed off and tried to get a look when Ed pulled up his shirt to uselessly examine the bandaged area, as if he had no idea why it would hurt.

Ed shoved at him and turned away. "Don't look!"

Al felt intense frustration at the push and pull of their relationship. Ed held him so close, demanding his presence to the point of isolation from everyone else, yet shut him out completely from many of the ways they had been closest before. They always had an understanding about taking care of each other's wounds; it was not just accepted, it was expected. The absolute trust that Ed placed in his care was corrupted when it came to pain now. It was important to re-establish that connection if he was ever to achieve his goal of becoming guardian and taking Ed out of here.

But he knew better than to argue if Ed said no in front of Havoc. For some reason, he felt a lot more resistance from him than from the Major or even Dr. Gansworth. So instead of prodding Ed to let him find out what was wrong, against his monstrously strong instincts, he held back.

This is why he planned to ask for his next request directly from the doctor.

xxxxxx

Kimbley set his cup down, shrugging. A car rolled by the café window and he watched it absently.

It seemed likely that the doctor was being manipulated by the Colonel. Mustang had always been ballsy, a gamesman with the perfect poker face. Not only had he not complied with the written orders, there had been no response at all.

Little had been wasted along the lines of the setup. It was no big deal to have a couple of men and a car on call, waiting to move in with all of the right identification and orders once Gansworth signed off and the transfer was a go; but he had no intention of going so far as to recruit Bradley's involvement. That would have made the whole proposition pointless, anyway. The idea was to hand over the boys to the homunculi in return for a bigger, better stone; if Bradley had to step in, he would be given the credit, and any reward.

He'd want to hand them over straight away, too, without further damage.. That didn't really work for him, either.

He could still come and go from the compound, get face-to-face with the boys, but getting the information the homunculus sought was no longer a big enough bargaining chip. The only sure way to win the pot was to hold the best cards. If he managed to get possession of the Elrics, who knew what lengths the highest bidder would go to in order to get them. Next to a Philosopher's Stone, they were the most ransom-able commodity he'd run across to date.

They'd all be pissed, and that was another plus. Along with the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity, first-hand, about Edward's crazy-quilt crime scene of a body.

Mustang was annoying as hell. It suddenly struck him that, if the Colonel were to meet with some unfortunate accident, or get transferred to a remote, desolate outpost with no resources, the Fuhrer would have to name a new guardian for the boys. Kimbley could be right there to selflessly take on that role. It would be a just punishment for Roy-boy interfering with his plans. It might take some doing, but as a plan "b" it was actually a better course of action than the original.

His otherwise grim expression sported a thin, tight smile for the first time in days. Get Mustang transferred, or take him out entirely. Maybe both, one then the other. While he generally preferred wholesale slaughter and bloodshed, there would be no small satisfaction in dragging the Colonel through a nice, long tour in hell before sending him there permanently.

Funny how all of these insect-like people now had value in his eyes, where before they had none. Disposable pawns were necessary to play certain games. Sometimes he had a tendency to forget that.

He raised his cup in wry amusement.

_Here's to plan "B"_

xxxxxx

Just as he had suspected, the pirated copies of the transmittal logs revealed nothing in the way of any transfer orders sent to Dr. Gansworth. Nothing significant in the way of orders regarding the Elrics since the official renewal of Ed's residency.

Fuery's wiretaps came up empty as well. The only interesting thing he'd run across was completely out of left field, and had nothing to do with the military. It seemed that Havoc's lady friend never called from the same number twice. And of those numbers, all but one yielded nothing but an out of service message to incoming calls. Only the number she left verbally rang through. Fuery hadn't had a chance to pin down the exact location of that land line, and with so much official business to take care of, it would be a while before he might get back to it to satisfy the Colonel's stated curiosity.

Mustang couldn't shake the gut feeling that this transfer was Kimbley's doing. It wasn't all that hard to imagine, the way he had behaved while visiting. But the true motive – that was much trickier. It's one thing to toy with Ed and invade his personal space; but to take him away, with all of his special needs and troublesome behavior…how did that even make sense?

And did he really think that Alphonse wouldn't figure out that something was wrong? How did he plan to explain it to Bradley?

So maybe he wasn't right. Maybe there was a homunculus smart enough to snag the right paperwork to forge and deliver it to the right desk, maybe from a friendly source inside the military. Maybe Gansworth was a consummate liar, actor and spy. Maybe there was someone else with a totally new and unknown agenda in the mix now, as well. If Ms. Rockbell had just a little more knowledge about military procedure, she'd be on the suspect list as well.

No one was to be trusted. The word had been passed amongst his closest men before, but this time he drove the point home with extra fervor.

He sensed Hawkeye hovering at his closed door again long before the knock and random, unnecessary questions. She thought he was out on a limb here, getting a little too paranoid, but that couldn't be helped. Her concern was genuine and sort of appreciated. Although, he would have appreciated her having complete faith in his instincts a bit more.

Keep everyone safe. A simple concept, now so complicated in application. No new movement, no concrete reports to guide him. No description of the perp. No enemy uniform, no declaration of war. No way to tell when or where the next ugly incident would occur. Only a slowly growing list of victims and cryptic autopsy reports to pick through for clues.

Breda's tireless research was digging up far more new questions than answers.

At least for now Ed and Al were together and seemed to be benefiting from it. They couldn't take that "I told you so" away from him.

He dug back into the transcripts to go over them a sixth time to see if there was anything he might have missed.

xxx

Al held the tube of ointment, surprised at his dry mouth and pounding heart. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted to connect with Ed in this way; how much it had meant to him when he did this while still in the armor. Other than sparring, this was the only regular bodily contact, metal-to-flesh, that they had made. It was as much about bonding as it was about upkeep, filled with rare moments of vulnerability without all of the confusion and distraction of the outside world. Ed expressed gratitude and wore that unguarded expression of trust and total partnership that reinforced the warmth in Al's soul despite the chill circumstance of the armor.

Al had been witnessing the interaction with the Major when he performed the task and it was clear that it was still an avenue into Ed's core feelings. He'd been pushing for a turn at this, aching for the chance to improve the quality of the tremendous amount of time they spent together. It wasn't easy to deal with the confusing and disturbing behaviors as they emerged, each new day was unpredictable. Ed, stepped down one more notch in his medication, was growing ever more resistant to being cared for and sharing his thoughts. While he had agreed to this, his attitude was less than enthusiastic and the atmosphere was severely reserved

In his anxiousness to break in and take back his rightful place, the tension in Al's touch and voice served to increase Ed's unease.

"Let's use my bed. Do you want to start sitting up or lying…"

"Sitting!" Ed cut in abruptly. Reality was creating a cramp in his heart. He'd been warring with the embarrassment of his feelings about being in this big, strange room, with his nightmares that made him want to fall begging for a return to the familiarity of his former tiny surroundings. It made it hard to concentrate on things until they were unavoidably in his face and demanding response.

"Very well," the Major said, letting his hand linger on Ed's arm reassuringly in the guise of guidance. They situated Ed with his back and side turned for Al's manipulation, sitting slightly angled at the edge of the bed. Al nervously took the spot next to him, as Armstrong laid out the soft rag, metal polish, graphite, and liniment the he would need in addition to the ointment. Al had asked for the session to be as long as possible, since Ed enjoyed it so much, so the appearance of the supplies for the task of servicing and sprucing up the automail gave Al a rush of gratitude. He smiled at the Major for a moment before nerves stole away the expression and he was deadly serious once more.

"Okay!" Al said in breathless anticipation, worrying at the cap of the ointment. "Show me this new part and I know all the rest. Right, Ed? We've got the rest of it down pat."

A moment of doubt, a second of delay, and the Major forged ahead with a narrative to accompany his process for unlatching and exposing the previously inaccessible region in the deep shoulder socket under the cowling.

Ed was tense, flinching and stiff as Armstrong closed the cover again to allow Alphonse to go through the procedure on his own.

"My turn!" Al chirped. He twisted the safety and thumbed down the latch; the safety wasn't quite off all the way and the cowling tugged uncomfortably; Ed glanced back with a worried look.

"Not quite. Are you all right, Edward?"

Ed nodded unconvincingly, putting the Major on alert. The situation had gone beyond one of casual experimentation. Al was fiercely committed to seeing this through; Ed was growing less and less open to the interaction with each passing second.

When Al got the cowling open, Ed gasped and pulled away.

"Sorry! Did I hurt you?" Al cried.

They both saw the fear in Ed's eyes; the Major moved closer to reassure him, but Al did, too, and they found themselves pursuing Ed as he scooted, then rolled and crawled to get away from them.

"Oh no, I didn't mean to hurt you, Ed, stop!"

"Alphonse, please, stay back for a moment. I doubt that you hurt him."

Al grimaced and stopped, because the man was right about who Ed was trying to get away from; it was his reach that was being watched and avoided.

Ed was against the wall with no room left to retreat. The Major approached him with great care, offering the coat in an outstretched hand, smiling.

"Here, lad, we can do this some other time. Let's not be doing a lot of moving around until we get you latched back up, all right?"

Havoc moved closer, lingering silently, watching. This wasn't Al's fault, and he was being so good, holding back as he was directed despite the fact that he clearly wanted to rush in and try to help, hands-on.

Armstrong tried to decipher why Ed ignored the coat and the request. He still appeared to be afraid…but there was another look taking over, a look he recognized a moment too late. Whatever the flashback might be, it was clearly taking Ed out of retreat mode.

He launched forward at Al recklessly, and it wouldn't have been much of an impact at all if it weren't so totally unexpected.

It caught them all by surprise, as Al reeled back with Ed upon him, more of a stumbling to stay upright than a tackle. Ed's only sound was a low growl, and his arms flailed without aim, as if he were fending something off as opposed to attacking.

They toppled onto Al's bed and the younger boy managed to reverse their positions as they fell. It was instinct and long hours of practice fighting this very opponent that had him easily astride his brother with mismatched arms captured and crossed to hold them harmlessly still, careful to exert only enough weight and pressure to prevail.

Armstrong and Havoc were there just two beats behind. Ed's struggle didn't last long; the look in his eyes changed, and the false vision, whatever it had been, was past.

"Al," Ed grunted. For a second, he was still.

Alphonse was about to let him go when the fight resumed with greater force and focus than before. Ed didn't look afraid, but rather, there was a determination bordering on anger.

"Ed, stop! I'll let you go, just calm down!"

"No!" Ed yelled unevenly. "Fight me! Hard as you can!"

Al rode out Ed's furious burst of energy. He wasn't very strong yet, nothing like the incredible strength he had in the suit of armor. He wasn't fully coordinated when he was startled and upset like he was now. But Ed was a virtual kitten, a starved, dysfunctional, delusional kitten by comparison. It was a deeply painful realization that grew as the struggle continued with very little movement. Ed fought with all that he had. And Al held him fast without breaking a sweat.

Their eyes met with a flash of the same shared understanding.

It wounded Alphonse deeply, burning with empathy for his brother.

For Ed, it did much, much more, and he grew still again, starting at an expression filled with pity that he clearly had earned.

_Defend him, save him, save the world? He's in such pathetic shape that I fear for his health. And he beat me so easily. _

At Havoc's urging, Al let go.

"I wasn't fighting him. I wasn't fighting you, Ed, I just wanted to make sure you didn't hurt yourself!" Al cried out in guilt.

"I know. I know," Havoc said, trying to calm them.

"I didn't mean it. Ed, are you all right?"

"Get away!" Ed shouted as soon as he was free of the weight of Al's body, pushing him off. "Leave me alone!"

"Hey, now, let's take it easy…" the Major approached, moving in to assist.

Ed looked at his offering, the coat again, and grimaced in nearly unbearable disillusionment. The urge to grab the coat and scream until they let him go back and hide in his old room churned deafeningly in his head and belly, and he could barely still his hands as his fingertips dug into his cheeks.

All of them were looking at him, with such blatant worry and pity, but he could not detect one iota of surprise. They already knew him for the powerless weakling he had just proven himself to be. The only one who learned something from this exercise was the fool who thought he was merely hiding his strengths until it was time to take over the lead at the battlefront.

It was too much, trying to deal with them, and trying to come to terms with what had just come to light. He needed to center, to be alone, to collect his thoughts and stop dealing with anyone else's. Shouting at them to get out and go away was a waste of time, but dealing with them was unbearable.

The Major took his arm and while he released his hold when Ed tried to shake him off, he kept a hand on the automail, hoping to ride out a few more moves of token resistance and find the right moment to close down the cowling.

Without warning, Ed spun away, taking the opportunity now that no one was actually holding on to him. There was nowhere to run, the men were between him and the door, so he went the other way, jumping onto his own bed and hitting the wall, kicking away with his feet until the bed bounced and slid away far enough from the wall to accommodate his body, all the while yelling at them to leave him the hell alone. Somewhere in his head the order against alchemy battled the urge to create a barrier between them, or a doorway out, but the overriding desire was to get away from everyone, even if it was just the ostrich-like removal of their faces from his vision.

Ed's final move was to drop between the gap he'd created between the bed and the wall, body-slamming the floor on his side. Now they were blocked from view, and could see very little of him. It was the closest thing to escape he was going to be able to eke out, so he settled for it as soon as those prying eyes were gone, folding his arms and adjusting his position on the hard, cold floor in stubborn preparation for a long stay.

The Major was watching, staying low and at the end of the bed, stopping just shy of Ed's ability to see him. Ed's body was fairly still after it came to rest on the floor, so he decided to wait and see, communicating that decision wordlessly to the others.

"We can't just leave him like that!" Al whispered furiously. "He might..."

Havoc shushed him, but Al persisted.

"But what if he…"

Havoc acted on a hunch and ushered Al back across the room before he could go on, signaling for the Major to stay in his position by the bed.

"Watch what you say, Al, especially when he's upset. I know you were whispering, but it's close quarters, and I'm sure he's listening."

"What? But…"

"It's all right here, shhh, keep it low. Just tell me now. What were you worried that he might do?"

"I was just going to say, we can't just leave him there if we can't see him. He might hurt himself with alchemy."

_Bingo_, Havoc exhaled. _Good thing I moved him_.

"You're right. Okay? But from now on…if you want to tell me something like that, we have to make sure we're out of his range of hearing."

"But…"

"Al, if he hears you…he's very vulnerable to suggestion. Don't put ideas in his head. Okay? Warn me where he can't hear, all right? Make sense?"

Al nodded.

"And put your mind at ease; we're always on the lookout as far as the alchemy goes. We've been caught off-guard by it before, and it's a lesson we won't forget. Now let's wait here and see if the Major can settle him down."

"You still think it's me."

"I don't know. I just think that he's been one-on-one with the Major for a long time and he's more apt to let his guard down with him."

"Because he trusts him."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't trust you," Havoc said, responding to the hurt and resentful tone in Al's voice. "Remember, it takes a lot of time and patience to…"

"Remember what? We've had tons of time together. All of our lives, except this last year. He used to trust me more than anybody. Just me. None of this was my fault. How is this fair?"

"Al, stop, keep it down. I know you're upset." The angry stance and rising volume flagged the start of another bout of runaway rage, the third such bout this week.

"Don't do that! Don't try to pacify me like I'm some little kid!"

Havoc took Al by the shoulders and clamped down hard, staring straight into his eyes.

"Try to get a grip. Stop this now before it gets the best of you. When you get like this, I can't trust you. You've told me yourself that you fight it but you still lose control. That means you can't trust yourself. There's trust and there's trust, get it? I'm sure he's still closer to you than to anyone else in the world. But he needs rock-solid, total reliability when it comes to letting someone else have control over him. I think you can understand that. I'm sure that he really wants you to be that solid. But the fact is, you're not. And that's a scary fact for both of you to deal with. He's scared, Al. He can't help it."

"I know he's scared. I saw his face, it's so obvious." Al smacked his own chest for emphasis. "Me! When he's scared he needs to turn to me! Not run away from me!"

Havoc sighed. Al's arms folded and his chin slammed down on his chest. Good sign/bad sign; good in that it meant that Al was introverting and not going to go on a rampage; bad, in that it meant that he was stubbornly locking out any further attempt to reason with him. Whether he'd gotten his point across and Al didn't want to accept it, or if his point had been lost in the red haze of Al's anger, he had no way of knowing.

He watched the Major, on one knee and with great patience, spend minutes coaxing softly until a string of sharp curses finally came in reply from behind the bed.

It would be fine, then. Once Ed was interacting with Armstrong, his need for the huge Alchemist would draw him out of whatever mental foxhole he was hiding in.

The Major's nod confirmed it when their eyes met. Havoc's hands, still resting on Al's shoulders, were pushed off abruptly, but to his surprise, Al had done so to get closer, and make a rough, frustrated attempt to grab him in a momentary squeeze of apology.

Al winced as the slight snap in the background meant the Major had succeeded in closing the cowling on the automail.

xxxxxx

Deep in the throes of lightly medicated sleep, Ed looked into the sincere face of the human form of his brother, struggling to reach an understanding that had been eluding him time after time. He twitched violently when the impact of that knowledge hit him, spinning his thoughts back to the moment when Al had seized him in muddy rage and the Truth sucked them up for an encore.

Al has it wrong. He doesn't remember. Our memories…were twisted by my bargain at the Gate.

The in the dimly lit time between the torture and finding Al, every aspect of Ed's life was nearly incomprehensible for what small parts he could manage to recall; yet, as soon as they stood in the flawless white light, all of the details of the events, from spectacular to mundane, became painfully and abundantly clear.

Al was just an indistinct figure, the red stone seeming to float in midair. His voice was clear and relatively steady. "Brother!"

"I know, Al. We have to make it disappear and release these souls. I've made the decision that if it gets you your body back as well, that's fine. We would have done this either way."

"But that's not the main reason we brought it! You know that! I know what I was saying back there, but I wasn't myself! Something…something was really wrong with me from being trapped so long but I'm all right now!"

"Just stop, Al, let me talk to it."

The Truth chuckled at them. "You can't approach me to make a deal that you haven't decided on yourself, Alchemist. You're here for your brother's body and your limbs, is that so? You think that stone is the price I'll accept for all of that?"

"Are you saying that's how it works?" Ed asked.

"Maybe. There's a little problem. That would leave you even, except there's a toll for each and every visit. If we're even with this, whatever shall I take in return?"

"Wait. What's important is that this Philosopher's Stone needs to be destroyed, and all of the souls trapped inside are set free."

"There is no way to bring them back to life. Is that a lesson you refuse to learn?"

"But they'll be free - won't they? In that stone, I've heard them - we've heard them, haven't we, Al? They're trapped and they're suffering. You know everything, so you must know that!"

"That's correct. If you use the Stone to pay for this restoration, it will cease to exist as a prison for those souls. When a Stone's inner forces are expended in a benevolent act such as this, the transition will be peaceful and orderly. And it is also true that it would be agonizing for them to be released while functioning as a tool of destruction. Humans are fairly simple creatures, even at their end."

"So let's do this thing. I think we can understand each other. Give him the Stone, Al."

"Return Alphonse to his body without keeping any of his parts for souvenirs? Very well."

"But what about Ed?" Al cried. "His arm and his leg!"

"Silence, young man. This is still a deal between your brother and Fate. He's still the responsible party. And his wishes aren't quite that simple."

"But!"

"I've got this, Al." Ed nodded. "You can see into my mind right now, can't you? You know what I want out of this."

"Well. You are one of the most interesting people I've ever dealt with. I can do this, Alchemist, and it might be the answer to your dilemma if you go back and manage to carry on somehow. But your current clarity of mind and soundness of body is a function of the dimension you're in now. When you fall back into your organic existence, you'll both be twisted, sickly and crazed just like you were before you arrived."

"Which is why I have no other choice," Ed grimaced as Al's emaciated body came into view. "You know what I'm up against."

"That I do."

"Wait!" Al's voice quavered and the hazy outline disappeared; his true body straightened suddenly. In the moment of passing into his flesh, a sense of Ed's plan was revealed. "Don't you dare!"

"Let's do this quick. Al, it's for the best." Ed said firmly.

"You can't do everything yourself!" Al sputtered.

"I'll have to," Ed smiled bitterly. Al would lose his alchemic abilities; whether permanently, or only until his older brother paid the final toll, would depend on Truth holding up his end of the bargain.

But at least this way, the homunculi would have no use for Al, and Al would be a whole physical being once more.

No more armor. No longer a target.

"Stop! Brother, stop this! We're in this together! You promised me we'd see this through!"

"Shut up, Al!"

"You have to leave the current retainer to hold an item of this value. And you'll have to leave the toll in advance if you want this to be reversed when you cease to be. So your arm and leg stay as collateral. That leaves you dead even. He'll have his alchemy restored, but you won't be getting your limbs back. Ever."

"Fine."

"Dammit, Ed! I have a say in this!"

"One more thing. I want there to be a delay before you restore his alchemy, just to be sure. In case they watch Al afterward."

"You don't seriously think that dead men's body parts have value, even here. Once you're gone your body will lose its worth in a matter of moments, including the odds and ends you're giving me. There's a hair's breadth of time between your last breath and the redemption of your deposit. At the exact moment that you pass through here for the last time, he'll get his functionality back. No sooner, no later."

"Tell him, tell him no deal! Get your arm and leg back, now! Don't talk stupid, Ed! Once we're all healed up we'll find a way to defeat them together!"

"I can't take that risk, Al. This is my…"

"Shut up! Stop it! No!" Al's fist smashed into his face and for just a moment, he was tipped backwards off-balance. In the surreal environment it was the force of Al's passion that turned his frail knuckles to iron, and rocked the foregate with the intrusion of physical contact.

"Give it back, let me handle this! Leave my alchemy alone! Don't listen to him! It's suicide, you idiot! I'm going to stop you, whatever it takes. Even if you do this, I'll…"

"Make sure he forgets!" Ed yelled. Despite the abstract pain from his smashed jaw, Ed managed to deflect Al's last-ditch attempt to halt him and seize the Stone.

"Let's not quibble, humans. Do we had a bargain or not?"

"Yes!" Ed flung the stone that would seal the deal, caught easily by the shadowy hand, inciting a wide, unfriendly grin.

"So be it. Fall away now, and let's see if what you've set in motion turns out the way you planned."

Tangled and struggling, they were propelled away from a blinding flash of light.

Ed awoke with a jerk, panting, vaguely aware of the Major moving to comfort him in his nightmare.

Another piece of his memory had now snapped uncomfortably back into place.

This path he was taking was not something he was playing by ear. It was something he had conceived in the brief yet somehow endless span of time he had spent at the Gate, deciding what was best for his brother instead of blindly bartering to get their "things" back. His mind, so excited to be sharp and functioning, had been lifted above the blinding torrents of his real-life situation and he leapt to take full advantage. In the chill clarity of the logic in the Truth, he had turned over the facts, sorted through his options, and arrived at his conclusion: in order to assure Al's safety in the face of such impossible odds, his brother had to be removed from the fight with the homunculi. Ed could fight, all of the soldiers of Amestris could wage war, but he was going to make sure that Alphonse survived. He had to convince Al to return home and protect Winry. Once he was safely away, Ed would take up the battle alone, unhindered. He would never be able to function under the burden of envisioning Al being subjected to any of the abuses the homunculi were capable of.

Al's delicate mental state became clearer to him then, and factored in, it barely tipped the scales of his plan towards success. This would never work otherwise.

I hurt to think about the mental anguish he had put Al through, and it was almost unbearable to realize just how long he had been left to suffer needlessly. If only he'd come around sooner. If only he'd managed to snap out of it long enough to tell someone how to free Al, anyone, way back when it all started…

The Major was giving him a pretty good shake, no doubt thinking that his pained look was still the result of dreaming.

He turned to the broad face and tried to focus. It was apparent from the change in pressure gripping his arm that the Major wasn't sure how he was going to behave.

Four eyes, six eyes, swirling in flashes of black and red…Ed struggled to stop the visions. Knowing that they were false was very helpful. He didn't fight or try to get away. The feeling was more frustration than fear. If he couldn't get better control of himself, his cause was lost.

Audio returned and now that he realized he was making strange, involuntary noises; once aware of it, he was able to hold his tongue.

"That's better, lad," Armstrong sighed. The rapid, keening cries had rousted Al, and Havoc was having difficulty getting him stay out of this.

Ed grunted and cleared his throat, still staring. As far as Armstrong saw in the subdued light, Ed still wasn't able to bring him into focus. His body was stiff and shaking slightly.

"I want you to wake up for me, Edward," he rumbled, keeping a hand on Ed's arm as he moved around to get better leverage. Ed was halfway out of bed; rather than let him fall back, he decided it might be best to bring him up and make sure he was all the way out of the nightmare that had disturbed him.

"Can't I help?" Al hissed, almost tumbling when he tried to put his feet on the floor.

"You need to stay put. Let the Major handle this. He's not awake yet. We don't need anybody getting hurt."

"I…won't…hurt…" Ed twisted, giving a little resistance to the direction he was pulled in.

"Wake up for just a minute. I want you to talk to me so I know you're all right. I think you were having a nightmare."

"Nuh…"

"Do you know me, Edward?"

"Major."

"Then look at me."

"I'm trying."

"I'm right here. This is me, feel my hand."

"I can't…I just...you're not..."

Ed was searching the room wildly, trying to get the images to clear away. The longer it took, the more real fear began to creep in.

_What if I get stuck in one of these…blind spots. What if I get stuck here and I can't make it stop? _He thought in growing panic.

The distressed vocalizations started again and he was less concerned, at this point, that they were his own.

_I can't save Al if I can't fight. I can't even see what's coming, I'm helpless!_

"Uh-oh," Armstrong's brow furrowed as he had to seize control of Ed's arms again. "Calm down, Edward, it's all right."

"Ed, it's all right, knock it off and go back to sleep!" Al screeched in desperation just as Havoc hit the overhead lights and bathed them all in eye-stinging brightness.

Ed gasped; the brilliance of the light stung his eyes despite what he thought they were seeing; and the blinking and watering, along with Al's strangely pitched shout, finally dumped him back into his surroundings.

"D-don't yell at me," he retorted, throat scratchy and tight. Squinting, he managed to look sideways to get Armstrong into his sight. There was that crazy mustache and the fierce blue eyes. He was free. The visions had let him go.

"Do you know where…"

"Leggo, I'm okay now. It's too bright!"

"Fine. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Havoc flipped the switch, leaving them with the indirect lighting once more.

"I'm the one that woke him up," Al grumbled heavily, already pawing the covers back up to his chin. "If he took the junk you guys make me take when I go to bed he wouldn't be doing all that fussing around. How come…I got…how come…I gotta…be so…uh…never mind."

Ed tensed. "Because I don't need it. And I don't want it."

"Shh-h-h-h…let your little brother sleep."

"You give me too much as it is. Then I can't wake up!"

"You need your rest. If you can't settle down on your own…"

"All right! All right!" Ed yanked the covers up past his chin and slammed back down into a fetal position, eyes scrunched shut, waiting for the prying eyes to ease their watch.

_I have this, I have my plan. I'm getting a handle on it. I can take care of everything. I just have to work harder. I'm almost well enough, just a little more strength and training and I'll have it. I can do this. I can figure it all out. I have to. _

_That's the bottom line. I have to._


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Havoc tossed his key in the air before letting it drop in his pocket. Now they had another week under their belt with Ed down to just a fourth of the initial strength of his daily tranquilizers. It was going so much better than any of them had expected. There were times now when he would step out, or the Major would, without overlapping backup. The shifts when Fuery and the others spelled them were uneventful. Ed was quiet when he wasn't working on his exercises and he was getting pretty reliable at eating under Al's watchful eye.

He spent a fair share of time in what appeared to be deep contemplation when they weren't distracting him or keeping him busy. That was pretty consistent with Gansworth's prediction that if Ed was able to settle in and start feeling more secure and in control of himself, his next phase might include some stretches of constructive introversion. Once grounded in the present, the task of looking inside to deal with his experiences could begin to play out with more positive results. So when he moved off to himself and seemed disconnected, as long as he didn't appear to be upset, they took it as a good sign, and let him be.

It made Al a bit impatient and irritable at times; but he was behaving despite his frustration and the pall of constant captivity. Whenever Ed had to be sedated to the point of oblivion, Al was encouraged to take the opportunity to leave the room and get out and about; because it still clearly upset Ed to have Al out of his sight any other time.

Fuery would be standing by to fill in if the Major needed backup tonight. Havoc gave the keys a pat and shook his head. Leave it to Mustang to insist on coming to his meeting with Solaris on the premise that he was driving into town anyway, and the length of time away from the Elrics would be much shorter if they drove than if he walked or took public transportation. The sly dog didn't even blink when he told Havoc to check out a vehicle for them _after_ he agreed, making it abundantly clear that the Colonel's sole reason for going was to crash his date.

It didn't much matter. Havoc wasn't even sure what was going on at this point. He'd never seen a woman so persistent for anybody, not just him. In his experience, most dames acted like they could take him or leave him even when he was the one doing the pursuing. This was just bizarre.

Sure, she was hot, so much that it was intimidating. She could hold up her end of a conversation in fine style. Unless he got the all-too-rare signals wrong, she would be expecting things to go far beyond platonic right off the bat. She had all the right parts in all the right places to make his neck catch fire when he thought about it. Yet he still couldn't help wondering when that other shoe would drop, and what the downside might bring.

_What does she want with a simple guy like me?_ And that unease, ultimately, was the reason he felt relieved when he thought about the Colonel stepping in and sweeping her away.

She was definitely more in Mustang's league than his anyway.

"So, you're going pretty soon?" Al asked without looking up, only slightly interested in Havoc's upcoming whereabouts. His nose remained buried in a nutrition textbook, investigating the relationship between amino acids and mental health.

"Yeah, the Colonel's going to meet me here."

"Mm-hm. Who's going to stay here with us?"

"The Major, I guess." Havoc checked his watch again. "We kind of planned this to coincide with the shift change. If you guys have any problems, the Master Sergeant is just a push of that button away."

Al put down the book and sat up.

"I guess he won't mind, but I'll keep tabs on him just in case…" Al rubbed his eyes and noticed the closed restroom door. He'd barely paid attention to Ed when he went in. The older Elric had been sitting on his bed, back to the room and facing the wall, and nowadays that was Al's cue to find something else to do and try to leave him alone. Reading was still hard to get into, but when it did click, it was kind of hard to break away.

The passage of time since Ed entered the restroom hit that threshold in Havoc's mind, taking it from 'reasonable' to 'too long.'

"Hey, Ed, you okay in there?"

Al expected a pause for reply before any sort of real concern, but Havoc was at the door in a flash.

"Ed. Hey. I'm coming in."

"Are you sure you should do that?"Al queried. He hated when they barged in on him. And Ed had proven, over the last couple of days, that they could let him close the door and be all right. It had probably been just a few minutes.

"He's been in there too long and I need an answer right away when I ask if he's okay. It's all right if I go in. Sometimes he needs help. Ed! I'm coming in."

"He wouldn't ask for help?"

"Not always." Havoc was pulling the door open when it moved on its own.

Ed's tousled head came into view, peering out, unfocused and unblinking.

_Damn it_, Havoc swore in his head. _He doesn't look right. I should have been faster._

"Come on out, Ed."

Al was shaking his head, confused at Havoc's dark tone of voice. Ed was emerging on his own. It must have been a false alarm. He'd probably just taken a little longer than usual. But the Lieutenant seemed more concerned than ever.

Ed was slow, balky. His head dipped down and his arms twitched before crossing awkwardly over his midsection as his body slid against the door to push it open. Still, he was in no hurry to step out all the way.

"What's up, Ed? You look like you've got something on your mind."

Ed shook his head, still looking down.

"Well, that's good, I guess. Let's move on out of the doorway. Okay?"

The smaller figure edged out nervously. It appeared for a moment that all the concern might be unwarranted; but he hadn't heard the commode flush, and he couldn't figure out what the problem might be. Then Havoc's eagle eyes caught something about Ed's hands.

"What happened? Did you have a mess in there?" Havoc asked sympathetically, starting to suspect that embarrassment was the issue. "I think you need to wash those a little better…"

Ed evaded slightly; the hand Havoc attempted to capture had something dark under and along the fingernails.

His chest tightened at the closer visual. It looked like blood.

"What happened, Ed, can you tell me? Come here, let me have a look at you."

"No, don't. I'm okay." _Damn it. I'm in control here. I just need more time._

"I don't think so. I think you may need some help."

"This? No, I just…it's nothing. I just…had an itch."

"Okay. It's no big deal then, just let me have a quick look. Just show me where it was itching. I think you may have scratched a little too hard. It'll just take a second."

Ed suddenly became aware of Al's increasingly alarmed attention, adding another aspect to complicate his turmoil.

The warm, wet, sticky area was already starting to provoke him again. Soon it would be maddening and impossible to ignore. But if Al saw it he'd be upset. And if he knew what the real problem was…

"It's nothing! Don't!"

"Look, how about if I help you?" Al offered.

"No! No way! Stop right there! I don't need help."

"Ed, I'm worried. You don't look…" Al took a cautious step forward, anxious to see

"Don't! Stop it! You're not supposed to worry about me!" Ed's voice was growing shrill. Havoc's interference was going to screw everything up.

"You can't order Al not to worry. Me, either. We can see that there's something wrong. So just calm down and let me have a look. Don't be afraid. We can handle it, no matter what it is."

Havoc never stopped, slowly closing the distance between them. When Ed's arm moved up to make a gesture and his shirt lifted slightly, he though he saw a smear of blood, but it was too brief, and in the shadow of the cloth of the shirt to was hard to tell.

"I'm not afraid. Leave me alone!"

"Al, do me a favor. Go hit the call button."

Ed watched Al hesitate, then reluctantly head for the far wall to comply.

"Okay, Al's where he can't see you right now. Show me, Ed. Do it now so he can't see."

"B-but…no…"

"Move your arms, buddy. Is it…" Havoc managed to catch the hem of the gray t-shirt enough to lift it slightly before it was pulled away and down. A flash of solid red was all he could catch sight of. "Ed. Oh, man. What did you do to yourself?"

"No, no, shut up, I'm just trying to fix it! Be quiet, Al doesn't have to know!"

"Listen to me. I agree, we don't want to upset Al. The best way to take care of this is for you to let me handle things. Let me take care of it. Take my hand. You're shaking, do you feel faint?"

"Don't let Al see. Uh!" Ignoring the offered hand, Ed's fingers started to worry under his shirt. His head was spinning, just a little, and it was getting hard to think clearly.

Havoc caught his arm to prevent it. "Your hands aren't clean," he explained lamely, trying not to overreact or provoke Ed. It might have started out as some insignificant scratching that got out of control, but the way this was going, he doubted it. "If you've got an open sore of some kind, you need to let me see.

"It's not a sore. Let go. You don't understand. I have to get them out."

"There's no harm in letting me see if there's no sore, then, is there?"

Ed's attention suddenly divided again. "It's nothing!"

With every step that Al took to rejoin them after pressing the call button, Ed's resistance ramped up.

"Al. I need you to go back and hit it again. Two times, one right after another."

Al swallowed hard and stumbled in his haste to get back to the alert system. Havoc had told him before, for his own use in case of emergency, that two rapid strikes on the button meant medical aid or emergency intervention was needed right away. Now he was getting scared.

"Okay, Ed, he won't see when I look. Not if we hurry up and do it now. And I am going to look. You know that."

Ed shook his head in the negative, still watching Al, but he didn't stop Havoc from gingerly lifting the t-shirt.

A washcloth was stuck on Ed's torso by the blood it was meant to conceal. It was starting to saturate. It wouldn't be able to protect the t-shirt from tell-tale stains any longer.

Havoc grit his teeth and took a deep breath. This was bad and getting worse; it was a good thing they had that call button. Al was going to be very upset.

"You need to come and lie down for me. How did it happen? It's not good to try and hide this, Ed."

"I know, I know, I know."

At first Ed allowed Havoc to guide him by the arm, still focused on holding his shirt out and not up, to prevent the blood from seeping into the material yet covering the area from Al's view.

But when they arrived at the nearest bedside, he refused to lie down.

"He'll see!"

"Alphonse, turn away for us until I tell you otherwise. Please. I know it's hard."

Havoc increased his hand pressure slightly to signal that he expected compliance now.

"I don't want to. I'm not done."

"Not done with what? I want you down, right now, Ed. We can't talk until you do. You're shaking, and whether you realize it or not, you look like you're ready to pass out."

He managed to get Ed on his back on the bed, using mild physical force the minute he saw the first sign of extremely reluctant surrender.

"Don't."

"I just want to…" Havoc peeled up one corner of the cloth. The edge of a ragged wound was exposed for a second before the blood began to well up again. "Ed. Why did you do this to yourself? How?"

The automail hand gave the blue jacketed arm what was meant to be a hard punch; but it was barely enough to make the man look up.

"Shut up! Stop it! I told you, you don't understand."

Al's gasp came from just over his shoulder, close by.

The hope that Ed hadn't notice died immediately; Ed went into retreat, jerking his shirt down and scrambling to try and get to his feet.

"Ed, calm down and hold still. You're bleeding!" Al cried. While the words were appropriate, the tone of his outcry sent Ed into orbit and back up on his feet in an uncoordinated attempt escape back to the bathroom. Instead, he found his way blocked, and a strong arm kept him from going any further, although in truth he was falling forward without any hope of staying upright for more than a stride or two.

Havoc had no chance to get Riza's ID when she came darting in to help, Mustang perhaps a half-dozen paces behind. The alerting system had been a lifesaver yet again. He had Ed's full body weight supported in a one-armed catch, because he needed the other to fend off Alphonse's panicked response.

Ed was making a lot of angry noise as he struggled but nothing distinguishable as words. Al was only slightly more intelligible, fast approaching complete overload, held away by Havoc's straight-arm block.

Havoc tried to keep it all straight, feeling like a zookeeper. Those doubts about whether one man or two should keep watch were resolved in his mind. They had let their guard down far too soon; the watch still required a two-man team, minimum.

"What's up here?" Mustang said evenly, to his credit quite low-key, as he stepped up to assist without any hesitation. He cautiously transferred Ed from Havoc's hold to his own. "Edward, slow down now. What's wrong?"

Hawkeye closed in on Al to help Havoc move him back, no need for explanation that he was beyond calming himself.

"He's injured, Colonel. He hasn't explained but it's got to be self-inflicted," Havoc called back over his shoulder as Riza took control of Al.

"I want a medical eval on the double. You'll have to call it in, there's no one at the desk to hear the alarm. I've got him. Go."

Havoc hit the corridor and made the short trip to the observation room, the closest phone available. The view through the one-way glass was somehow sadder in its silence. The Elrics' struggle look small and pathetic; the officers' movements ponderous and regretful. He twisted the cord anxiously and frowned, frustrated again that they couldn't have a phone in the room, but understanding the logic behind it much better. He'd thought it was a stretch, vetoing a phone because of the strangulation hazard. But in the end, given what Ed managed to do right under his nose and apparently with just his bare hands, the emergency call button seemed like a much wiser decision.

Gansworth answered his own phone, picking it up when the ringing struck a chord in his gut and told him not to let it go to voice mail. He had been up and in front of the desk, heading out the door, with barely enough time to make his next rounds on schedule as it was.

The words were almost unnecessary. Havoc's familiar voice held such a grave, alarmed tone that it spoke volumes. He interrupted in mid-introductory sentence.

"Stop. Just tell me, are you transporting or am I needed there? I'm on my way." The connection broke abruptly, leaving Havoc to pause for a moment before hanging up.

When he returned, he barely breached the doorway before he was sent off again.

"Breda should be at his station. Tell him to find Armstrong and bring him here immediately. Then get back here on the double."

"Lieutenant!" Al called out.

"He'll be right back, Al. He has to go." Al didn't look any less frightened than he had before. It was all Hawkeye could do to keep him steady; when he moved closer, it upset Ed. When she suggested that it might help if she took Al to wait in another room, both boys flipped out, yelling and struggling worse than before. So this ludicrous balancing act was necessary to keep things from escalating.

"What did he do? Why?" Al was almost in tears. "I was right here, we both were. He didn't say anything was wrong."

"Hold on, Al, let's stay calm. That's what we're trying to figure out."

Mustang's hand adjusted with Ed's constant movement, keeping pressure on a still-seeping wound he hadn't been able to get a look at yet.

"Try and hold still. I'm sorry if it hurts."

"It's not a big deal, just leave it. Just leave it! You're making Al worry! It's my business, not yours! You don't need to be here!"

Ed was all over the place, squirmy and erratic, unable to return a direct look. Mustang managed to walk him backwards and push him over far enough that he had no choice but to fall back onto the bed, but instead of lying flat, his back kept arching up.

"I said hold still. Settle down and follow orders, Fullmetal," Mustang said evenly. "I'm staying right here until you get proper first aid."

"You jerk…get off me…go away!" Ed howled.

Havoc was back, making a quick check in the bathroom for the first time. He found another wet, blood-soaked towel crammed under the stack of clean ones.

So there was no telling how much blood loss there had actually been, but there has been more than just a little.

_I'm an idiot! He must have started hurting himself well before he went into the bathroom. He'd been sitting on his bed, turned away, seemingly quiet and calm – so much so that I'd only taken notice of the time when Ed closed the door behind him. I never should have let him come in here alone without talking to him to test his stability first. And I never should have waited more than a minute before asking if he was all right in there, no matter how well he seemed to have been doing._

Taking care of Ed wasn't anything like taking care of Al. This was exactly what Armstrong was talking about when he said that it might be a mistake to take Ed out of his supervision full-time, and that having just one person on watch was too risky.

He left the towel on the counter and rinsed off his hands, ready to impart this new bit of information.

Gansworth was in the doorway and for once, Havoc had the chance to check someone's identity before letting them in.

Mustang gave up his spot and let the doctor take over.

The bespectacled physician knew immediately what Ed had done, just from the location of the damage and the blood-crusted fingernails.

Ed was pulling his head down below his shoulders like a turtle, suddenly stiff and petulant in the doctor's presence, expecting exactly what came next.

"Edward. We talked about this. This was a bad decision. This is not going to help." After pulling out rolls of gauze, a compress, antiseptic and tape, Gansworth lifted the towel, now fully saturated, and began using sterile cotton to mop up, trying to see the extent of the damage.

"Hold still, now. You've outdone yourself this time," he said softly.

"I was just going to fix it! You sure as hell won't!"

"There's nothing to fix, Ed. Well, I have to qualify that - there's definitely something to fix now. But it's only because you hurt yourself. This wound was old. It healed as it should. It was cleaned thoroughly and completely. There's absolutely nothing in it. Now please move your hands."

"There are! I feel it! I can feel them right now! Just let me do this, and I'll show you. Or you do something, damn it! You do something! Do your job and I won't have to! Just cut it all out! What's it matter if lose another chunk now? What's the big deal? If you won't do it, I will, and that's all!"

"What's wrong? Why won't you help him?" Al pushed forward again; Hawkeye braced to stop him, but his words already did the damage, reminding Ed that his little brother was nearby.

"Oh no," Ed tried to sit up. "Don't get Al mixed up in this. He won't understand."

The doctor would have been able to restrain Ed easily even in this state - but Mustang stepped back in and took his shoulder firmly, speaking with a calm, confident air that was manufactured to create the impression that he had the situation under control.

"We can take care of everything for the both of you, but you need to cooperate. Do as you're told, Fullmetal. And keep your hands out of the way."

"Al will be fine," Gansworth said, grateful for the assist from Mustang, because it freed him to try and deal with the ugly wound. "This is our priority right now. You're still bleeding, and this may require stitches. Did you do all of this with your bare hands? Was this all from your fingernails? Did you really mean to do this much damage?"

"Shut up! He's right there, you idiot!"

"Alphonse is back in your life now, Edward. He's going to hear and see many things that are unpleasant. There's no real way to keep him in the dark, and in this living situation, you need to accept it. We will help him cope with what he sees here. He's a full partner in your recovery now."

"He doesn't need to know everything."

"He can see what you've done already. Now he deserves to know the background for your behavior. Especially since we haven't resolved it."

Havoc was back at Al's side, taking the other arm, feeling the tension in his clenched muscles.

"You don't have to tell anybody anything!" Ed screamed. "Just cut 'em the hell out of me!"

"No!" Gansworth's reply was startlingly loud. "I will not. The insects are only in your head. In your memory. In your imagination. I can't carve away your body until your mind is satisfied. It's more likely that there is no amount of flesh that I could remove that would do the trick. You would be further mutilated and still have these feelings, because the only thing here is purely in your head. Your body is clean. Hear me, because I want you to understand. There is nothing to dig out, or cut out, or remove. This behavior has to stop."

"Then I'll…I'll…"

"No, you won't. There is no argument."

"Then what do I do, what do I do? When they start crawling and itching and…and…digging…and…"

"You call for me and I can help you before this gets out of hand. Tell the Lieutenant, tell the Major, tell Alphonse, but tell someone before you act out on these impulses. Colonel, if you will assist please, I need him to be very still while I numb this up.

"Colonel," Ed said suddenly, pleading. "He doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't know what it feels like. He won't help me and now he won't let me fix it myself!"

"Can you listen to me, Fullmetal? He's telling you the truth. I know they worked very hard to make sure that every bit of foreign matter was removed from all of your wounds. And that was many, many months ago. If you think about it, that has to be true. There isn't any infection or inflammation."

"But they are there. They are! They're still breeding. I can feel it, there's more and more all the time! And they're…they're…"

"I can take an image of the area and prove it to you. The Colonel is right. An infestation like that would be unmistakable, and it would have been easily detected. There are no insects in your body and there hasn't been a single one since you were admitted. They were all removed the very first day you came into emergency. I know because I was there and I participated in that process."

If Gansworth and Mustang had the power to will Edward into understanding, it certainly would have been so. But as they stared into the golden eyes, the conflict and distress continued to increase. Beads of sweat were springing up along his cheeks. Gansworth knew that to be extremely rare, and a sign of stress approaching a physical breaking point. He still hadn't been able to hold Ed still long enough to get a thorough assessment of the damage.

Al was speechless, reeling as his imagination ran wild with details of the bizarre abuse his brother may have been subjected to. No one had seen fit to warn him about this, even though they clearly knew. He let Havoc turn him away, aware on some level that the purpose was to keep Ed from seeing his expression as he struggled to regain his composure.

That he could be talking to him one minute and have everything seem fine…then to inflict gross bodily injury on himself with his bare hands just a few feet away without making a sound…Al felt his stomach roll with the icy truth that Ed was still so very sick and estranged, when he had seemed to be doing so much better.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why do that to himself, why not tell us? Why not tell me? Does he think we don't want to help him? Doesn't he trust me?"

Havoc pulled Al a few steps toward the doorway before he replied, low and quiet, careful not to be overheard. It was difficult to maintain an even keel for the boy, but it had to be done. No one had informed him that Ed had such a wound and that he experienced a recurring delusion that it continued to be infested.

"It's not like that. He loses control. He forgets. And it sounds like he can't shake certain beliefs about his body. We have to be patient with him, Al. But more than that, he needs to be watched at all times. He wasn't doing as well as I thought. I should have watched him closer and I shouldn't have let him stay in there so long without checking up on him. I shouldn't have been so quick to decide that we can let him be alone. I never should have let him close that door."

They both turned to the sound of a clearing throat, and Havoc took the Major's identification with a mixture or relief and regret.

"So I hear he's had an event." Armstrong's eagle eye took in the scene.

"It was my fault. I let him get out of sight. I screwed up. I had no idea this was bothering him."

"I don't want to see you blaming yourself, Lieutenant. There's no way that you could have foreseen it. I would have briefed you about it; but I thought his problem with this was resolved some time ago," Armstrong said as he passed.

It was fortunate that Ed had been deposited on the bed nearest the restroom, giving them an advantage that Ed's own bed, with its position tightly pushed against the walls, did not. Armstrong was able to come around to the other side and kneel to bring his words of comfort close without interfering with the doctor's work. He'd made a side trip on the way across the room, retrieving the well-worn coat, and now made a tentative gesture to bring it into contact with the sweating, slightly trembling body.

He, too, was surprised to see the rare appearance of perspiration, and fret over the wound Ed was still trying to cover with his hands as the doctor and Mustang continued their attempt to reason with him.

Armstrong felt they were wasting their time. This wasn't the Ed that was capable of reasoning and self-control, no matter how he might struggle to get a grip. Ed needed firm handling and swift resolution to the distress at hand in a manner that didn't require that he cooperate.

Still, he held his tongue and did what he could, getting Ed to take the blue sleeve in his flesh hand, then bringing a fold of the jacket up to cover that hand, to conceal the blood coating his fingers. If they managed to bring him out of his current obsession, the sight of blood on his hands might propel him into yet another.

"Let us take care of you, lad. You know we want to help. You know the doctor makes things better, even at times when you're afraid that he won't."

"Don't let them tell you things that aren't true, Major. I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I wasn't." Ed's hands shook loose to plunge down to and block Gansworth's

"All right, I believe you. But you are injured. You know that, right? You are injured and you need to be tended to."

Ed cringed and looked down before meeting Armstrong's eyes again. The massive Major gently pulled Ed's hand out of the way and wrapped it in a fold of the coat.

"I want you to take a deep breath and be still. I'll try to do this with as little discomfort as possible but I need to see the extent of the injury here." Gansworth plowed ahead, taking advantage of the moment.

"Don't let Al see. He'll be upset." Ed breathed, jaw tight as the Major took control of the automail as well.

"I won't. He's back where he can't see. Lieutenant Havoc is with him, he's not alone. I assure you, we'll make certain that he's all right. Take my hand now, Edward, squeeze it tight if you need to." Armstrong's aim was to keep both hands occupied now, and he nearly succeeded.

Ed's breath quickened when the cloth peeled back again, and he declined the offered hand with a quick, evasive move. He tried fruitlessly to rear up. Armstrong gripped his shoulders and both of the doctor's hands were engaged in his examination, yet something cool and damp gently pressed against his forehead.

He looked up, startled, into familiar dark eyes.

"Deep breath, Fullmetal. He gave you an instruction," Mustang said as he mopped the pale brow, urging firmly, testing for a response. "It's my order, as well."

"Oh. Yes. Sir." Ed tried to obey. Getting his breathing to slow down wasn't easy; it hitched at each sharp pain and uncomfortable probing touch. As a distraction it was an unexpected success; trying to comply with the Colonel's direction gave him focus. When he let the Colonel take control, things fell into place; he didn't have to make sense of them and decide what to do. He could do as he was ordered and let go of that infinite confusion and lost feeling, if only temporarily.

"Good man, Elric. Good work," Mustang said. He was getting a little impatient, taking the rare position that the doctor was waiting too long before medicating Ed. He was struggling so hard with his delusion and the painful aftermath of his rash actions, and it wasn't really getting any better. His thin body was rigid, his chest rising and falling so quickly that he was sure to pass out if he kept it up.

Out of Ed's range of vision, Gansworth set the syringe that would take Ed into dreamland on sterile gauze and made a last attempt to assess his patient's mental status. Ed had acted out, but was the delusion still just intermittent episodes recurring from time to time, or had it grown into something he shouldered and resisted acting upon as a part of his daily burden?

"I'll patch you up and I'll take images to show you that you have nothing to worry about. Just tell me, son. When you were trying to take care of this yourself, and you didn't find any foreign bodies. Didn't that make you wonder, even a little?"

"They…but they _were_ there…there were a lot of them! I flushed them all out, or I tried to, I had to dig down and scrape out and squeeze, I didn't want them to get back in! They like it in there; they might try to go back! And eggs, they laid eggs, I bet, and then it'll start all over again. More and more…"

"Easy, easy," Mustang urged, pressing harder to keep Ed from rearing up.

"So you still think you actually saw them," Gansworth said in disappointment. There was little point in reasoning with him, then, if he was sure that he saw them with his own eyes.

"I'm not crazy! Anybody would do the same thing, but they wouldn't have to if they could get some help!"

"I never said you were crazy. Of course you're not. But listen. Listen to me. I can only tell you that you've been hallucinating again and that you're going to have to trust us. No one here would let you suffer and expect you to bear something so painful and disturbing. I promise we'll take good care of you."

Ed's reply was a frustrated and pained wail high in his throat. Gansworth administered the injection, unnoticed.

"Calm down now, let us help you. We're on your side. We're committed to getting you well and keeping anything harmful away from you. Keep talking, Edward; keep telling me what's going on. The more I know, the better I can help." Gansworth maintained pressure on the wound and waited, listening patiently as Ed leapt to the invitation to speak out. The paranoid, nearly hysterical rant about the imaginary infestation went on for just a few minutes until the strength in his voice petered out, and the medicinal calm finally dulled his distress all the way into gentle oblivion.

The silence in the room went unbroken for a full minute, while the doctor prepared himself to address both the medical situation, and if necessary, the collective reaction of the others in the room.

"I need your help, please, Colonel," he said in his best bedside manner. He dare not show any lapse in his composure while the rest were still reeling and trying to regain theirs. "Clean hands, to start."

"Of course," Mustang said, his tone unflappable and commanding as always. He'd finished applying anti-bacterial gel on his hands already, having made that his first priority once Ed was unconscious. He took over applying pressure to the wound so the doctor could snap on sterile gloves.

Gansworth checked for response, waiting until probing no longer elicited any change facial expression or respiratory rate. Ed was still, the local anesthetic was doing its job, and everyone seemed to be holding their own without asking for further reassurance. He pulled aside the gauze and bit the inside of his mouth as he tried to figure out the best way to repair the mess. Never had he envisioned someone having the capability of self-inflicting an injury like this. The automail had to have played a big part. Definitely, the fingernails had been used here, too...but to tear in and dig down so far so quickly and if the accounts he gleaned were correct, in silence, undetected by people in the very same room…it boggled his mind.

In the subdued light of the observation room, Winry covered her face with her hands, but no amount of pressure could ease her aching heart. From across the distance of the room and through the slightly shadowy glass, the wound still looked shocking as Gansworth finally got his chance to explore it without interference. It was hard to tell for sure, because the sound had been off when she entered the room…but there was no other explanation she could think of other than self-mutilation. Al did not appear to be in trouble; not that, heaven forbid, she thought he was capable of inflicting something so awful on anyone, much less Ed.

Her mind leapt to frightening possibilities. Had he done that much damage to someplace like his throat, he could be dying. What if he picked a more vital area next time? Even worse, what if he escalated his approach and turned his alchemic abilities against his own body?

A medical assistant hurried in to join the doctor, taking the Colonel's place. She watched Al resist being moved, distraught over being relegated across the room to sit on Ed's bed, as the examination and treatment began in earnest. Havoc hovered over Al, keeping him back more with words than with force, and ended up holding him in sympathy instead of restraint.

_Does he get it now?_ she wondered anxiously. _Does he see the same writing on the wall that I spent so many months deciphering myself? It's so hard to accept, but it just can't be ignored._

_You can't take him home. You can't set up a room for him and take turns watching him. He wouldn't be better off. He wouldn't be fine. _

_It would be a nightmare; one with far too great of a chance of having a tragic ending._

_The Colonel and his men were Ed's lifeline now._

xxxxxxx

_I can't wait around forever doing jack shit. I'm tired of being bored. Lust has been more of a bitch than ever since that meatbag Havoc stood her up and it's been a royal pain putting up with her. I've been taking care of Rage all by myself, day in and day out. So I deserve this. A little playtime. A little "me" time._

The young soldier was panicking and flailing again, secured by wrist chains to a ring on the rock wall high enough that his feet only supported a fraction his weight. A fist-sized stone, so large several teeth cracked when it was slammed into his mouth, was the only thing preventing his cries from alerting anyone who might happen to be passing the area. Taped into place to put an end to the annoying begging, no matter how hard he tried, he could not expel it.

The difference between this human and Fullmetal was already so obvious that his excitement was well-tempered with disappointment. It took so much delicious torture to get Edward to show fear, to admit to pain. But Ed was somewhat of an old hand at dealing with unholy terror and gross bodily injury, even before they'd had their fun. This guy obviously hadn't seen much in the way of adverse action, and his shock was almost as great as his fear. This situation appeared to be far beyond his understanding.

Envy let a shaft of hair snake out and latch on to the reddened face, changing to a semi-liquid and flowing over all of the young man's features until it became a second skin; a living mask. It was easy enough to shape it into a perfect replica of the image that skirted his memory constantly. He fed more material through to replace the short dark hair with long, tangled blond, crafted to match the mane that he'd yanked brutally throughout his session with the real Fullmetal.

When he snapped off the length to see what would happen, he nearly gasped in satisfaction.

Not bad. It was just a wild idea, but it worked – not only could he use his body to morph himself, but it would serve to transform the look of others as well. He didn't have to stay connected to maintain the shapes and textures once he had them set. He'd made his own living Edward doll. The eyes were an issue, though. Wrong color. Wrong look. Ed, even at the end, never had this cowardly degree of fear, pleading and surrender in his eyes. And while he could add a layer to make someone appear differently, eyes seemed pretty complicated. To make them lifelike…ah, it was just too much bother.

Easy fix. Another shot of hair split into two, sharpening and swirling, and with casual precision routed out the offending brown orbs.

Now it was all gagged, choking screams instead of begging, and that was more like it. He split away the uniform and began estimating, carefully, where the leg and arm should be removed to finish the transformation.

_We'll go all the way to the end,_ he grinned, licking his lips. It wouldn't be nearly as good as the real thing. But the fact that he could take it all the way to termination and beyond, and not have to be concerned about keeping this plaything alive – that was enormous consolation.

Enormous.

Salivating heavily, he had to remind himself to leave some leftovers large enough for Rage to feast on later.

xxxxx

Havoc and Armstrong were getting well-synchronized and settling in for the long run. Many a day they stayed around the clock. No other set of caretakers were as effective at preserving the peace; although, since Ed's self-inflicted injury, the amount of activity they had to deal with had greatly decreased. Gansworth determined that it was the too-rapid reduction in Ed's medication that had left him so edgy, disorganized, irritable and impulsive; so the daily dosage was ramped back up to a level that once again slowed the former alchemist significantly, bringing a reprise of the calm of sluggish mind and body. The goal was still to wean him off of it, but the process was now going to be extremely gradual, a matter of months rather than days. Even Mustang was on board with the increase in medication after seeing the improvement in the young man's comfort level. He left his bandages alone and showed only mild interest when the dressing on the wound was changed each day.

Al was glad to have Ed reaching out to him again; although it was clearer than ever that it was primarily from being under the influence. It was better, it was worse, it was too much and yet it almost wasn't enough. He didn't cling constantly now that he was at roughly half of the totally disabling dose used during their relocation. Sometimes he couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to grab Al or turn away from him, and his logic was spotty at best. It was only when he was distraught from a flashback or insecure from getting overtired that he fell to his little brother like a lost child and grappled for his protection. It was a tough stage for Al to deal with but for the others, not so much. It was similar to stages they'd seen Ed through before.

Al was, as always, staring over Havoc's shoulder when Gansworth was changing the dressing to his injury. He hovered until urged to move along once the further examination began. Havoc noticed the trend before, and passed on a comment again, that Al was still having difficulty respecting any increased demand by Ed for privacy. It was further complicated by Ed's erratic behavior, because there were times when he would ask Al to help him with certain things that unavoidably exposed some of his physical damage, only to rebuff him sharply when he went to help the next time. Al was constantly in the middle when Ed's problems would erupt, many of them involving a flashback to the origin of one of his injuries, and the push and pull surrounding his desire to help, and the concern about what he should and should not be exposed to in order to keep from upsetting Ed, led to confusing, uneven treatment and a tendency for each event to be handled in a knee-jerk, unpredictable manner.

It was leading Al into darker waters. More than once he had lost his temper with Edward, albeit with instant regret, over being pulled in and pushed away time and again. And he was developing a habit of attempting to invade Ed's personal space any time he was drugged and incapacitated, taking advantage of the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity to the point of making both the Major and the Lieutenant edgy and uneasy as they removed him each time without waiting to see what his unrestrained activity would ultimately lead to.

It occurred to Gansworth again that Al's behavior was troubling them for some of the wrong reasons, and with all that the boy had to cope with, letting it slide was at minimum unkind, and a potential path for problems that begged for re-direction.

One solution he mulled over involved the transfer yet another of the Major's long-time caretaking responsibilities to Alphonse. As always, the prospect of losing more responsibility seemed to wound the massive strongman, and Gansworth was sensitive to his feeling of loss. The only way to mitigate the pain was to thoroughly explain the reason for it.

He did this by ordering in substitutes and taking Havoc and Armstrong aside to another room. They were long overdue for a good discussion on how the men perceived both the condition of their charges, and how well the situation was going for all concerned.

Peering into two sets of nakedly worried liquid blue eyes became a bit much and Gansworth had to take a break from it, polishing his lenses instead as he spoke. Havoc, who had elevated the issue at hand, and the Major, whose duties were about to be impacted by the response, were strung so tight it was making this a more difficult meeting than he had anticipated.

"He's worried, he's wringing with repressed guilt and possessiveness, and he's also desperately curious. It's not a strange or morbid curiosity, it's mostly born of straightforward emotional needs and desires, but it's getting twisted around bit by bit each time these behaviors get frustrated. Which explains somewhat why his behavior continuously changes despite what seems to be a fairly stable, repetitive situation. He's becoming less predictable, and that makes our job that much harder."

"We don't want this to go on the way it has been. Al's feelings are legitimate and he has to be allowed to have them and examine them without being judged. He has to be allowed to explore them, within reason. It's our duty to help them both to come to terms with the way things are. I know it's not easy, Major. But rather than have him stealing looks and feeling guilty or strange about it, I'd rather have Alphonse taking positive action, helping his brother, and keep his involvement framed with a sense of caring and healing. Furtive attempts to sneak peeks and feeling bad about it makes it seem like he's driven to do something taboo or dirty to someone he's fiercely loyal to and protective of. That's every bit as unhealthy for him as it sounds. You can see how distracted he becomes when he thinks he might catch sight of something. We don't want him getting obsessive about Edward's body. If you think about it, he had many opportunities to see everything before and avoided it. This issue has evolved as Al has become accustomed to the fact that Ed has been permanently disfigured and no longer tries to look away or deny it. Not only is this acceptance, but it's also because he wants to be as involved and informed as we are when it comes to Ed's condition. He was deeply affected when Ed injured himself ; he feels that it was his ignorance that allowed it to happen. There's a jealousy factor as well. He somewhat resents the advantage that we have over him when it comes to making care decisions. We already know, see, and have addressed bodily harm that he still doesn't even know about."

"I understand, and I bow to your greater knowledge. I'm just concerned about the overwhelming nature of it. It took several times before I could bear it, start to finish, and I must confess to having nightmares about it for some time," Armstrong said. And in fact, the nightmares still came, now and again.

"Yeah. Exactly. Alphonse seems pretty fragile. This has been a long haul for him. One thing after another, non-stop, you know?" Havoc added. "I'm not arguing, but…"

"I know. Fragile or not, disturbing or not, he's already trying to see what's there to be seen. In that regard, he _is_ ready. Now it's a matter of addressing his very strong need to know what happened to Edward and how it's changed him. We can let him tease it out in bits and pieces, let him continue to feel like he's indulging in sick or perverted urges, or we can be open and honest and engage him in a healthier process. In all conscience, now that we're aware, we would be lax in our duty if we let this go on the way it is any longer."

"You make sense when it comes to Alphonse. I don't understand your expectations regarding Edward's reaction, though. He's been trying to prevent the very sort of thing you're proposing. He doesn't want Alphonse to see. He doesn't really want anyone to see. I've felt quite fortunate that he's accepted my care and at times he still becomes reluctant."

"I considered that. This is one of those situations that will take some trial and error, some time and effort to follow it through. There's a good chance that this will require a slight increase in his level of sedation again, at least, at first. Major; if you'll recall, we went through a similar process of de-sensitization through repetition before you could take over his daily skin treatment outside of the clinical setting. Even though he was already trusting of you, the only method that worked initially was calming him with medication."

"So Edward will be compelled to participate no matter what his feelings are."

"You've observed the boys, Major. You've seen how far Al has been able to go already, what with the automail maintenance and all. First it was just the arm, and with time, that's worked itself out. Now he does the leg, too. What's left of the thigh area is severely deformed with a multitude of scars, a number of them in that area are quite bizarre and of unfathomable origin, and Al has now seen these repeatedly. Both boys have come to accept this. Because it was a matter-of-fact activity like automail care, Ed was able to grasp the need to allow the exposure and he's coped with the change in routine. In light of that success, I've determined that we have an excellent chance of accomplishing the same in transferring the daily dermatological care. Ed's used to the process, and he understands that it's necessary. So shifting this responsibility from one trusted soul to another is something I think we should try. I'm not suggesting that we transfer the whole process all at once. The change will be gradual, of course."

"I'm not arguing, sir," Armstrong said softly. "It's just, even though Edward is still subdued, he's already getting more self-conscious about letting down his defenses. Is it right that as soon as he starts to pull himself together a little and express what I think is an understandable objection, we're just going to disregard it?"

"Yes, well…it's a delicate balance. I don't believe that all of his resistance was a focused response to his situation; a lot of it was general thorniness was due to aggravation from withdrawal. I don't want to drop his level of medication too quickly and end up with the kind of incidents we faced last time. I'm more inclined to increase the dosage temporarily to cover any possible acute reaction. And Alphonse does a very good job coping with Ed's emotional needs when he's impaired. His issues with Edward only seem to get out of hand when he's pushed away. And ultimately, not being pushed away is what this is all about. Just be certain to exercise caution and be vigilant. There's nothing easy about this. I would remind you that Alphonse hasn't reached what I consider remission. New symptoms and the behaviors associated with them need to be anticipated. I believe that, within reason, our care should be flexible and mitigate aggravating factors in the care setting for both of them. This course of action has the potential to balance their needs and eventually return more stability to their relationship."

"I guess that means we're overruled," Havoc said.

"But not unheard. Please, gentlemen. You're very, very close to them, day in, and day out. I believe that you're sincere and seriously concerned, and I appreciate everything you've expressed. I know you have their best interest at heart. Return me that favor and believe that I do, as well. I simply have a perspective that's a little further removed, and my focus has to be on the bigger picture. You suffer through all the little discomforts with them but I will tend to see past those when I'm making decisions in the overall scheme of things. It might make my decisions seem insensitive at times. I'm afraid you'll just have to bear with it."

Havoc and Armstrong shared a looked and let their silence pass for acceptance. They had to bow to the doctor's greater knowledge and rank, but that didn't meant they had to like it.

xxxxxxx

He wanted this, and at the same time, it wasn't right. It wasn't right at all that he was able to hold him like a child, no matter how much it meant to be able to share and ease his pain. Because that wasn't his brother's way; Ed was a tough, stubborn, smartass, capable guy. No way would Ed be happy like this. Even as he gave as much comfort as his heart could provide, a part of him squirmed during every minute of it, because the Ed he knew couldn't bear to give in and accept even a fraction of care such as this.

For Al, their embraces were confusing and scary. The others didn't seem to find it troubling at all; in fact, they seemed to encourage it. Maybe they liked this version of his brother better, but that was no excuse to gloss over the abnormality of it. The real Ed might be irretrievably lost already. Maybe this sad remnant was nothing more than it seemed, the tragic remains of a once-brilliant mind.

It came up in the next therapy session, the lead-in as Al was nearly bursting to get the conflict off his chest.

"He never wanted to be like that! It's not some healthy sign like you make it out to be!"

"Alphonse, this isn't the final outcome. It's a process. Think of it in the same terms as a deep, open wound. A wound may be awful to see, alarming and painful- but you have to examine it and deal with it in order to treat it properly. You have to treat it while it's exposed and it's different than a surface abrasion. It needs to heal from the very tender insides out. Ed's wounds go very deep into the most fragile of areas, into strata people would normally be able to conceal and protect their whole life long. Some are more defensive of their vulnerable side than others, and it sounds like Ed would never have let anyone approach this part of him otherwise. But there's nothing wrong with reaching in to help now that he needs and wants it."

"Brother doesn't like all this touchy-feely stuff. He's different than I am. I've always wanted to be close but he would always turn it into a sparring match or a race or a smack on the head. It bugged me when I was in the armor and I thought about all of those times he could have hugged me before and didn't. Those were my last opportunities and I didn't know if there would be any in the future. At least those hugs would have been from someone I could still share my thoughts with. Not like Mom's."

"Well look at it this way. You can make up for all that now. Right? This is your time to connect when it's for his benefit as well." Gansworth sighed. For all of the fighting and convincing, and finally through demonstration, it had taken forever to get Mustang to agree that an even longer course of medication was warranted. Hovering at fifty percent of the maximum dosage, no one was suggesting now that it was advisable to hurry to get to the 25 percent level, the point at which the self-mutilation had erupted. Ed was showing no sign of anything self-destructive. He was not fully in control of himself, by turns clingy and independent and Al was having trouble coping with both aspects.

"No, it isn't the same. This isn't Ed's way. It feels wrong, like I'm taking advantage of him. Seriously. And he just keeps coming at me, and it seems mean to turn him away. I'm so confused."

"It may not seem right to you when he physically clings to you while seeking your help, but it's his internal need that drives him. His need to believe that you are safe and well and close by, is by all indications the core motivation for his existence right now. He's coming to rely upon you more and more for certain elements of his care, and we've stepped up your responsibilities considerably. So you're disturbed that he may need to embrace you for comfort even though he didn't before? That sort of thing? It seems that he does have that impulse at the moment. If it continues even as these deep wounds heal, is that such an awful development?"

"It isn't, but...it's so...I want to push him away! I can't..." Al wrung his hands, searching for the words.

"Take your time. Let it come out. You can say whatever you're thinking or feeling. There's no judgment here."

"I can't hold on to him, trying to get what I need, if it's going to jack up his mind! I want to...to..." Al hugged his own sides trying to figure out exactly what he was trying to get out of close contact with Ed. It might ease the ache in his heart, if he let it happen, and if Ed were truly close.

"I miss him. I want to be doing things with him again. I want to see him smile and hear him laugh and make all those jerk-ass remarks. He's right here, right freakin' here, and even when he's hanging on to me and screaming and crying, I don't feel like he's there at all. It's almost worse than before. I keep thinking that he's as close as he can possibly be and I still can't find him and reach him. So like, I get it, that's my issue, not his, so if he needs me to hold him I gotta. I gotta try to help him but damn it, I don't even know what's going on. I can barely stand it, I even start to get pissed off at him. What the heck is that? Why can't I just take care of him when he needs it? It's what I thought I wanted to do now. My big goal. Get him back home and let him get better. Now I'm not only worried about how I would do that, I'm worried about how well I'll manage with him if he keeps this up."

Gansworth was jotting down notes, nodding.

"You said you were doing just fine coping with his constant demands on you while he was far more incapacitated. Were you just trying to be positive in spite of these feelings? Or is this how it's been and it's just getting more troublesome, perhaps because you're experiencing some burn out?"

"That was different. He was helpless and totally dependent on everyone. And I did feel bad about it. I just kept it to myself, because I thought it was temporary."

"I'm hearing a lot of guilt."

Al swallowed hard. "Tons."

"Ed truly needs his connection with you. But he has learned to derive comfort from some of the other people that he trusts here as well. Both of you are seeking solace, but I'm starting to realize that it was an error to assume that you would both be able to give and receive it from one another in some sort of balanced relationship. This is my fault, Alphonse. I hadn't foreseen this in enough depth. We've withdrawn full-time individual support for each of you and replaced it with shared resources and a very traumatic and complex task. That's the problem. Your reaction is entirely understandable, now that you've explained it."

"No, I shouldn't be feeling this way though. I definitely shouldn't get mad at him."

"Hold that thought. You don't want to be angry but it happens. You've controlled your actions most of the time and you're getting better at it. It isn't pleasant but what you've been doing isn't wrong. Focus on that. I'm going to see if I can adjust things and get you back into a more appropriate balance with Ed and the support you both need."

"I can't figure out what I need."

"We've discussed how you don't like to be alone. So you need companionship. Love and care. To be valued as a person. And Ed needs that as well. Staying together is still the best way for the two of you to re-establish that important relationship. Doesn't that sound right?"

"We don't use the word love. Sometimes I think it but I never say it. It's like the 'f' word to him."

"Edward is not all that adverse to using the "f" word," Gansworth said wryly with a gentle smile. "But I believe that I know what you're trying to say."

"Okay, you're right about that," Al agreed. "So or him its much worse than that. I think it when I look at Ed and he's upset, when I miss him, when I'm scared that he's hurt or that he might die...but I know I shouldn't say it to him."

"I'm not asking you to say the word. But we both know you feel it, and you have the need to feel loved in return. It's hard for many people to express or admit. In such stressful circumstances it's important to recognize it within yourself, though. I won't ask you to do more than that for now. But we need to dig a little more and help you understand your own needs at the very least. If you can do that, your potential for success in dealing with Edward, and anyone else precious to you, will be that much greater."

"It's not fair. I just knew it would be all right if I could get him to accept me, if he just recognized me and got used to being together again. Once we had that out of the way things would just start to get better. He'd get better, and I'd feel better. I was so afraid that he wouldn't get past that…that…that falling apart thing he kept doing when I got close to him. He's over that now but still it's all weird between us."

"Alphonse. It's good that you're sharing this with me for many reasons, but in particular because I want you to keep this in mind. What we've discussed here is a very legitimate concern…for you. But, son, try to remember that this is a very different Edward than the person you knew before. His needs and his reactions are in constant flux. A word or a deed that would have been certain to set him off before may be meaningless to him now. He has a whole new frame of reference when it comes to the relative bad and good of people's actions towards him, and his own sense of autonomy. It sounds very much like it was a matter of pride that was driving his reluctance to express need or affection directly. If he's unable to wield that defense now, your ability to comfort him without facing that barrier is a positive side effect of that loss, be it temporary or permanent. You're not using that vulnerability to harm him. Recognizing that there's a break in his armor, and taking advantage of it to reach in and help him, is exactly what I urge you, and all of his caretakers, to do as much as possible."

"Yeah. I guess. Still…"

"The other men don't have the same qualms as you do, but they did at first. Edward apparently presented that image to most everyone who knew him. Tough and independent, not liking to be touched or assisted. But they've recognized that the events changed all of that. They've come to regard his bouts of clinging as acceptance of their help, and for the most part they see it as a positive sign, an indication that they're important to him, and they don't discourage it at all. Let's discuss this further next time, but in the meanwhile, when you're with Ed and the question comes into your mind as to whether to give that hug or say those words from your heart…give him what you, yourself, think is best. He _is_ capable of telling you if he really objects. His old defense mechanisms concealed his pain and shut out those who would help. Don't you erect that wall for him out of guilt. He's much better off without it."

Al nodded, head feeling far too full.

"Did I hear you say…did you say that Winry's still leaving?"

"Yes, it's just as we discussed. She needs to return home for a while. I explained why. Do you remember that conversation?"

Al didn't reply; his lips grew tight, and he didn't meet the doctor's eyes.

"You do understand that she will return."

"Is she at least going to say goodbye? Will I know when she's gone?"

"Of course. She's not sneaking out. She can come and go as she pleases. We need to respect the fact that she is a highly skilled and sought-after individual. Recovery for Edward is going to be a very long haul. It's unreasonable to expect someone of her caliber to wait around for such extended periods of time without being able to participate. You have her undying loyalty and support, Alphonse. She's going forward and integrating her support for the two of you into her life, starting the process of finding balance between the world here and the life she's lived every day."

"I knew she couldn't just stay here forever. But I didn't think she'd leave so soon."

"It may seem that way to you. But really, she's been here quite a long while now."

"But I hardly got to be with her!"

"Partly the point. She does spend the vast majority of her time waiting at this stage. Perhaps when she returns that can start to change."

"I guess."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure that the two of you have plenty of time to say goodbye."

Al knew he should say 'thanks' but it was just too difficult. He didn't feel grateful for the casual disregard for his needs and Ed's. Who was he supposed to use as an island of sanity, what did he have to look forward to? And without it, how much harder would it be to cope with the strain of living with Ed?

It wasn't the fault of anyone here but it was shitty to make this sound trivial when it made his heart ache and his stomach fill with sharp, icy panic. He felt alone, trapped, over his head to a much greater degree that he had before.

"Alphonse? Are you all right?"

He didn't know if Gansworth knew why he fell to cursing at him and had to be restrained. He didn't really intend to do it, it was more that it happened and he came to realize that he was lashing out before any conscious decision had been made.

It wasn't until they had him subdued and immobilized that he realized just how badly he'd lost control and began to worry whether they would let him say goodbye to Winry at all.

The thought sent him dissolving into forlorn, frightened tears as his last act before the tranquilizer shut it all down.

xxxxxxx

Bags packed and under watch by Sgt. Fuery, Winry silently followed her escort. She normally met Al in the observation room, but he led her to a room she had never seen before. Gansworth had been serious, then, about not wanting to have them meet where there was any glass to be broken. Havoc was going to bring Al in and stay. This young man, whose name she hadn't really caught, was going to stay as well. And Dr. Gansworth was supposed to come or send an orderly.

Mixed didn't begin to describe her feelings. Granny needed her help; she had stopped accepting new automail customers weeks ago, but the backlog of the installations and repairs, far more voluminous than usual due to skirmishes to the east and an earthquake in the south, had gotten completely out of hand. The young man she'd taken on as a temporary assistant got fed up and quit nearly a week ago. As much as she hated to, Granny sent word to Winry advising her of the urgent need for help. Clients who had become cherished friends were beginning to suffer, and it couldn't be allowed to happen without Winry's knowledge.

Agonizing over the decision had brought Gansworth into the picture, counseling her upon learning of the dilemma.

His words made so much sense - at the time. Waiting to tell Al goodbye…the logic and reasoning and determination that resulted in this decision seemed to vanish. She felt like a turncoat, a heartless beast.

The way the doctor put it made it easy to grasp. Ed and Al's controlled environment was a place to keep them safe, with a goal of slowly normalizing them before returning them to the atmosphere of life outside these walls.

Like floating a plastic bag of new fish to equalize the temperature before releasing them into the community tank, it was a matter of slowly changing the conditions in the temporary environment and gradually adjusting the inhabitants to survive what would await them upon release. It was safest; a gentle, responsible approach.

Artificial changes, like implying that life could be put on hold without end and that competing priorities didn't have to impact them, might work in the short run. But this was looking to be a very long haul, indeed.

"I can only impress upon you that when we have a real-life situation to deal with, such as the need for you to return home, it should be handled without prejudice. We're not talking about mere weeks, or even months of recovery here. I think you know that as well as I do. Since we're working in terms of years, you can't let this weigh so heavily on you that it comes unbearable. If you allow it to bring you to a total stop, it will become more and more difficult to live with in the long run. Your dear friends are in need of you but if you make it an all-or-nothing, absolute commitment, there will come a time when your ability to keep that commitment is challenged and you may not be able to stay the course. With a common-sense, calm, reasonable approach – 'I shall be here for you, as much as I can, and I when I must be away with other responsibilities, know that I will be back as soon as I can' – you can make promises that you can live with and that demonstrate to Alphonse that it is not the end of the world when things change and people have to come and go for reasons that do not involve him. One of the trickiest facets of his obsessive mindset is the very direction of it – inward. He is uncontrollably self-obsessed right now. He's only beginning to find ways to resist the urge to internalize every little thing. Your behavior, if you'll just go ahead and do what is logical in this situation, will be another guidepost to help him see that."

Still, it had been hard. She hadn't slept in two days now – one while struggling to make the decision to go now, and the next while struggling with the guilt of knowing that this would be very upsetting to Al.

But as the doctor had urged, she didn't want to be guilty of interfering with their rehabilitation. So she would leave, and keep the tank as normal as possible, and not deceive the fish into thinking that the world outside of the plastic bag was somehow going to warm up to their needs, whatever they might be. The truths were to be left to speak for themselves. The world was moving on, just as it always had.

With a knock at the door, Havoc escorted Al into the room, and never let go of his arm.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Hawkeye frowned, remembering her discovery when returning the car the Colonel had borrowed to the motor pool. Two withering flower petals had been in the crease of the seat, confirming her suspicions. For the second time in as many weeks, the Colonel had been visiting the graveyard.

The year following Hughes' death, his visits had tapered off, until his busy, pressured life left him with no time for such pursuits. She didn't mistake that for thinking that he had somehow come to accept it and that his shattered heart was mending. His best friend's premature departure from this life left a dark hole in the seemingly superficial, egotistical soul he presented to the world at large. She saw it clearly on the best of his days, the slightly haunted look that rimmed his bottomless dark eyes even as he laughed in the company of his other friends. He would not get over it; it was a permanent disfigurement that he merely learned to cover cosmetically, laughing a little louder, drinking a little harder, and dating a bit more promiscuously.

And now, making the same trip two weeks in a row indicated a flare-up, something more acute. The situation with Edward, and the fruitless quest to flush out the homunculi responsible for both tragedies, were definitely getting to him more than he let on.

"Thanks for filling in for me. How are they doing, Lieutenant?" Mustang asked, glad she had been the one to take his meeting with Gansworth. His covert side trips and official responsibilities were already overlapping; the right time to meet with the doctor, whose schedule was nearly as challenging as his own, never seemed to quite work out over the last week or so. Better to have the information second hand than to wait and risk having gaps in the overall picture.

She glanced at her notes, just to confirm that everything there was still fresh in her mind.

"Things are going well enough. Some of the secondary challenges are getting clearer. Ed wants to be concealed in a tightly controlled, enclosed environment and he's been better at letting the Major know when he needs to withdraw and regroup. The doctor says it's more evidence that he's making headway, that his self-control and coping mechanisms are showing signs of recovery. Al is dealing with being closed in as best he can; but he's still highly claustrophobic. He'll let Ed pull him along when he needs isolation but if he puts the screen is up and blocks them in to tightly, he's only able to tolerate a very brief period before he has to get out in the open. Since they want to be together every minute, it's creating some problems. Even the level they meet on when things are calm is disjointed. In most of his moods, Ed wants Al in reach if he isn't actually touching him, and he still grabs him and tries to insert himself in between Al and whatever is trying to interact with him. Al still has those self-control issues, and being manhandled startles him into anger, and sometimes, aggression. When he gets mad at Ed it still absolutely devastates them both. So far there hasn't been a solution that works reliably, and he's not letting Ed's medication level drop until things improve. I couldn't really think of any suggestions as to what we can do about it; he was hoping that you'd mull it over and get back to him."

"That's all pretty close to Gansworth's written report here. I can't pin any inconsistency on him. So you haven't seen anything that seems off. Nothing behavioral, no questionable habits, no bad vibes?" Mustang rubbed his palm on his cheek, hoping to stir a little more circulation and awareness.

"No. So far I haven't been able to catch him doing anything but working and sleeping. He doesn't socialize and he gets his meals from food service. From the front gate records going back, it looks like that's just his usual habit. He spends about ninety percent of his time at the infirmary or making calls on base."

"All work and no play," Mustang reflected, still not ready to be convinced beyond a doubt.

"How about you, sir?" she asked softly. "It's been difficult, I know."

"Ah. I appreciate your concern, but let's not go there. It's business as usual from my end, Lieutenant. Just focus on the matters that require our attention."

"Yes, sir."

"Second Lieutenant Havoc is in with them now?"

"Yes, he should be."

"And Major Armstrong?"

"They're both there."

"Security performance reviews?"

"No exceptions noted, sir. All secure. Code Kilo lockdown still in full effect. Falman's assessment came back clean this time. No breaches or errors at any of the checkpoints."

"Excellent. Can it be that we're getting a handle on things? I can hardly believe it."

Riza smiled. "It all looked very good, I'm afraid."

"No word from Central?"

"Nothing, sir. It seems as if they've dropped the subject of moving Edward."

"What about our staff report? Any word yet on why Piper went AWOL? Is he back yet?"

"No news and no sign of him, sir, and it's a concern. I went over his Sergeant's report and it doesn't look like the usual situation. He disappeared in the middle of his shift. No one saw him leave and he didn't tell anyone anything that indicated he had leaving in mind. He never checked out at the gate. So if he did disappear deliberately, it was a very devious plan, and he may not be coming back."

"Follow up more aggressively, Lieutenant. Send someone to his family home, check the train stations, the hospitals and police stations. Do a full missing persons ASAP."

"I took the liberty of talking to his Sergeant; he says Piper was pretty much the reserved type when he first signed on but since then he'd really taken to the job and he's become pretty popular. Always having a good time in the rec room or out with the guys when he was off-duty. There haven't been any problems that he's aware of and no warning whatsoever that he might be a flight risk. This is the second incident under his command this year; Bell was in his patrol unit when he was injured. He'll be glad to hear that we're pursuing it, I think. He seemed more than just a little worried.

"Did he?" Mustang's sixth sense flared up fiercely, and his gut told him in no uncertain terms that something bad had happened to the missing man. "Go now, Lieutenant. Make this top priority. Contact Vickers and coordinate with him. Have the MP's comb the area he should have been patrolling that day; I don't care how many times they've looked already, have them go over it again. Tell him I want answers and I want them _now_."

xxxxxxxxx

Two days of investigation, and for all the world, it seemed like Private Piper had disappeared off the face of the planet. Mustang's instincts were on fire, and with no leads, the commanding officer's imagination was getting the best of him.

The chain of events had been examined, fruitlessly. When he failed to make the first of his periodic check-in reports on the status of the watch while on patrol, the duty sergeant felt uneasy. The assumption was that one missed check-in was bound to happen now and again, and men weren't perfect. Piper was due; he'd never been late for a single check-in before. He'd been notably social lately, which meant an emerging tendency to swap early bedtime for beers and late nights, and the increased possibility of falling asleep on the job – the usual reason for missing a checkpoint. But then he missed the second check-in as well. Missing two in a row was dereliction of duty; and with Piper's flawless record, that just didn't ring true

The Sergeant set out on a trail bike to find the out if the kid had gotten hurt; Bell's ill-fated venture too far off the beaten path in diligent pursuit of a suspicious stray black dog was still vivid in his mind. The patrol route was empty. A few men were called out to look, then more, until the Colonel's orders resulted in an all-out search and rescue operation. They came up empty each time they increased the perimeter of the search. There was no sign of struggle or any dropped equipment. The only discovery was the young man's canteen, hanging by its strap on the usual tree branch, as per his habit of leaving it there and sipping from it as he passed by during his rounds.

It was completely full, to the very neck, indicating that he never had a chance to return to it.

Piper's closest comrades were adamant that the guy was comfortable with his life in the military and had little in the way of family and friends on the outside to draw him away. His closest friend, a fellow private, had last seen him before he set out to patrol the perimeter the very day he disappeared. They'd had a brief chat about their long-awaited plans, excited in anticipation of getting away for some fun now that they finally managed to wangle concurrent three-day passes.

The departure date had now passed for the train tickets they'd paid for in advance. The railroad confirmed that the ticket was never redeemed, foiling conjecture that he'd taken off by himself for unknown reasons. If he hadn't used the ticket, he'd have to get it refunded before the time of departure to get his money back. The military didn't pay a whole lot at his rank, and if he took off voluntarily, that not insignificant sum would have helped a great deal to bankroll his desertion.

Mustang was convinced of foul play. And the only enemy he knew of bold enough to attack the military in its own back yard was still too much of an enigma; if he knew how to pursue them, he definitely would run them down as their number one suspect. But the one person who had first-hand knowledge of their methods hadn't shared that information.

He surprised Gansworth in his office, scanning all the exposed paperwork on the doctor's desk as he barged in, making certain that he was caught off-guard by listening in the hall for the right moment to enter.

"I need to discuss something with you. I need to know how close you think we are to getting Ed's story."

Gansworth nodded, already recovered from the abrupt nature of the man's sudden appearance and demand, but asked just to be sure he had it right. "You're referring to the details of his abuse."

Multi-tasking by scrutinizing the room, Mustang was somewhat satisfied that the doctor made no attempt to move or conceal anything while obviously in the middle of numerous tasks laid out in plain sight. Without missing a beat he made the mental note that he had passed that test and moved on.

"More to the point, I'm only trying to get an understanding of how the actual abduction took place. I don't need to probe any further than that. I just need to know how he was captured. They were both taken and Alphonse has very little information because he was in an inanimate phase in the armor until he came to already tied up. But Ed was the one that actually experience the hunt and capture."

"He hasn't discussed it, but I haven't had any reason to ask about that part of the incident specifically. I can bring him into session and touch on the subject and see what his reaction is."

"Is it possible to prepare him so that he can tell us what he knows more easily, say, with sodium pentothal?"

"I would not consider using that drug on him, not at this stage. Well down the road, should he get most of his memory in order and we find that he's adjusted to it, if he was actively asking for help to regain the rest of his recall, it might be appropriate to try it with extreme caution. But right now, that drug has the potential to unleash all of the memories that his mind has been suppressing in self-defense. Take away his defenses and bombard him with everything at once and there's a high risk that he would fall right back into the dissociative fugue state he was in when you first brought him here."

"I thought he had most of his memory back. I thought the issue now was helping him deal with it."

"His memories are highly compartmentalized. He remembers limited segments at any one time. That's not the same thing as what you would think of as having your memory back. He's recalled the majority of the experience again, yes - I'd estimate perhaps eighty to ninety percent of what happened, he's realized at some point since he's been recovering. But he hasn't got any kind of an overall concept of it, just pieces of a puzzle, flashes of scenes that are all mixed up. He's not ready to try and put them together to see the chronology or the event as a whole. The individual segments, the flashes of time, the sudden understanding when he links a scar with the act that caused it – from what I see, each new revelation, each individual incident, tends to completely overwhelm him, and there's so much, so many disturbing, incredible acts were perpetrated against him, that he never gets the chance to focus on one long enough to even begin to desensitize and assimilate it into his common memory. It's too soon to make him try to string all these horrifying vignettes together. Edward is an incredible fighter, he's been absolutely fierce in his effort to make a comeback, and he'll rise to the occasion no matter how unpleasant my methods may be for him at any one time. So when I see him balk and shut down when I ask him to try and look back and give me an overview on his experiences while we're in session, I take that as a very reliable indicator that he isn't ready."

Mustang contemplated his dilemma, ready to ask for any suggestions when Gansworth beat him to the punch.

"We could try a very controlled, limited attempt at hypnosis. It's something I've been thinking about. It isn't without its own risks. Nothing says it will even work; Ed's powers of concentration are erratic at best. But since you're talking about the time period before the torture began, it may be possible to take him into a session and relax him to the point where he can describe just that limited set of circumstances without doing any lasting harm."

"How soon?"

Gansworth gave his head a brief shake of disbelief at the bum's rush the Colonel was giving him. This wasn't a step he took lightly, and he'd prefer to have plenty of time to prepare, perhaps do some research and check for comparable case studies to make sure he'd identified all of the possible pitfalls and their remedies well before going into the actual procedure.

"I really would like to do some more research…"

"Can you do it or not? Look, we have a situation, and if Fullmetal has anything we can go on, we need it as soon as possible. So, can you do it?"

Gansworth grimaced, and even though his head still shook in the negative, he responded with the opposite.

"I can do it. I'll do what I can but with this kind of a rush, my concern is that I can't be prepared for every possible way this could get out of hand."

"Sounds like SOP to me. How soon?"

Mind grinding, already listing supplies and deciding on the setting and considering the psychological tactics, the doctor didn't reply immediately.

Not good enough for the Colonel.

"I said, how soon? When?"

"There's a lot to consider. I'll have to…"

"Get back to me when you know. I want something set up in the next twelve hours."

"Twelve? How the hell…"

"It's not like you have to find the equipment. You can borrow my pocket watch if you need something to swing in front of his eyes. Twelve. Call Lieutenant Hawkeye with the time and place. Don't screw this up."

And as quickly as that, Mustang was gone, and the hollow silence of the office was broken one last time by the slam of a door at the end of the corridor.

"You bull-headed son of a bitch!" he muttered in frustration, already up and digging binders from the bottom shelf of the bookcase to refresh his memory on some of the finer points of regression hypnotism.

xxxxxxx

The men combed the area, searching for any sign of the missing man, calling out after their first stealthy sweep of infiltration revealed nothing but evergreens, rocks and scrubby undergrowth. They met at the infamous spot, with the rock wall on one side of the bowl-shaped clearing giving it the air of a small natural amphitheater. The Sergeant stood on the unnatural raised mound, the only significant deviation in the otherwise perfectly sculpted hollow and tried to decide which way they should look next.

"This is it," Fuery confirmed, a chill running down his spine. He'd been on site in the aftermath here, scooping up samples for evidence, well-bloodied objects ranging from blunt to piercing to half-dead beetles and scorpions and everything in between. There was nothing like that here now. The ground was scuffed up, and with so many men trooping about there were plenty of boot prints, but nothing to indicate that anything was out of the ordinary.

"What's this?"

Fuery trotted over to a man examining a dark area where the stone wall met the loose dirt on the ground.

"Hard to say. It's not wet. Guess it's been here for a while."

The wall itself bore the scars of the past, holes and fissures where stanchions and rings had been ripped out and taken as evidence.

Fuery's eyes moved past the familiar stretch of wall and caught something further down, something he could scarcely believe he was seeing.

A pair of rings were anchored in the stone. It was hard to say how long they'd been there. It was possible that the scrubby plants growing in the cracks of the rock face had hidden them back then, before they got so leggy and sparse as they were now. But somehow, he doubted it. They had searched this wall very, very carefully.

He tried examining them but they were too high, well above the height of his fully extended hand.

"Have those always been there?"

"I don't know," Fuery conceded. "Someone go back and get me a ladder, a hammer and a chisel. Wait. Two men go. Everybody pair up. Nobody goes anywhere alone. Got it? And get a sample of that dark soil. Use this bag, Private. Don't touch it with your bare hands."

Fuery stared at the rings with a sinking feeling in his chest. They had been very thorough when they cleaned up after Ed's abduction; it was a crime scene, and every square inch was examined closely. All of the foreign objects, whether loose or buried or attached to rock, were taken in and catalogued as evidence. This had to be something placed here at some point after they cleared the area. Maybe it was just his over-excited imagination, but it looked like these were brand new.

"Master Sergeant," one of the searchers called, not moving from his position bent down on one knee. "I'm not sure, but I think this might be a piece of boot leather."

"This rock has some kind of tape stuck to it."

"Don't touch any of it!" Fuery commanded. "Mark it and keep searching."

When the men returned with the ladder and equipment, he changed his mind about removing the rings on his own and sent them back to fetch the head security officer.

Xxxxx

"You understand that I don't like this, either. But I have new evidence that another man may have been abducted. It's already been a few days and we're running out of leads. We have to move quickly."

"And I've set up the first stage in recognition of that. Please hear me out. You seem edgy. It's vital that we go to Ed calmly and give him assurance that we're in full control of the situation, and that we in no way indicate that there is indeed an emergency, especially not at first. If he picks up the sense of urgency or distress – well, I think you've been around him enough to get the picture. I don't think it's wise to even hint at the possibility that there's been an abduction at all. We need to test his reactions before you introduce any stressors."

Mustang took a deep breath and gave the hem of his coat a firm tug, straightening both his uniform and his composure as he collected his thoughts. With a brisk nod, he waited for the rest of the preamble.

"This is just the first step. Very low-key. You tell him exactly what you need to know. You ask if he will cooperate. And his responses will guide us from there. He will either have full, some, or nothing in the way of recollection of the events. And he will either be open to sharing or trying to excavate the memories, or it will elicit some other reaction; possibly fear, anger, flashbacks, you name it. As things develop, I'll guide you as best I can, if I feel you need it."

"Right."

"Alphonse is going to go for a walk with Lieutenant Havoc. I thought it best to remove him, although it was a close call. Removing him is disruptive, but I feel that having him stay has the potential for more problems. You always draw Ed's attention and I think that with you in the room he'll settle down. At least we won't have the added complication of Alphonse's reactions to deal with."

Mustang followed Gansworth through the identification process and let everyone else participate in a round of greetings. As commanding officer he stood in silence above the casual exchanges without appearing snobbish. He saved a slight smile for Fullmetal as the boy noticed him and became riveted, as always aware that a visit from the Colonels usually meant something was up, though never the same thing twice.

"Hey, Ed, I'm just going for a walk, okay? I'll be back," Al said lightly. He was willing to put on an act for Ed, to keep from upsetting him, but he had very mixed feelings about leaving the room. He would have preferred to stay and put in his two cents wherever he thought it was needed; but there was the slight mitigating factor that he was going to be able to spend some time seeing daylight, if only through windows, and then visit the rec room. It was a moot point anyway because the Colonel had ordered him to leave the room. And while he wasn't Mustang's subordinate, he still had to recognize that the man could terminate his residency here at any time with a few simple words.

"I'm going with him," Havoc assured when Ed gave them a troubled look.

"Going? You're not going to take him outside!"

"No, no, nothing like that. I need to have a talk with the guys down at the mess hall. Al's just tagging along. That's all. Seems like a good idea to go now, we'll just be in the Colonel's way."

Ed looked slightly mollified. "Remind 'em about the milk."

"No," Al frowned, wondering if they really were going to waste some of his valuable freedom hanging around in the kitchen. "You're supposed to drink it. It's good for you."

Ed clearly was about to argue, so the Major cut in.

"I think that's a subject for another time. Colonel Mustang is a busy man."

Ed hushed and the frown remained. He didn't want Al to leave but the Colonel was waiting, and it was only for a little while and they weren't going very far and they weren't going outside and...before he could fret any further, the door shut, taking them out of sight. His attention shifted back instantly to the three men, who were staring at him intently.

"What?"

"Edward, the Colonel has some questions he would like to ask you. He's looking for some information, that's all."

''kay. So what? What do you want to know?"

Mustang cleared his throat and waved a hand to the bed next to Ed, seeking permission to sit. Ed nodded and hopped onto the bed too, wiggling back a bit, so they could be facing each other. He was surprised that Ed wanted to sit that close to start off.

That's good, get comfortable, Roy thought, unbuttoning his jacket. For a moment he stopped and held the front closed; he didn't immediately remember if he still wore the weapon Hawkeye had been insisting that he carry these days; but a quick check told him that the gun bra and pistol were gone. He had secured them by locking them in his desk drawer, the act performed on autopilot and forgotten until this moment of relief at having taken that proper precaution.

Fiddling with the coat called attention to it, a tactic he used shamelessly to try and draw on Fullmetal's positive emotional attachment to the sight of the garment.

"I'd like to know what you remember about the day you were captured."

"The day? The whole day? Like what things did they do to me the first day? I mean, I don't know, I don't know if I know what day, what, I just…"

"Easy, there, slow down. Not that much. Not after they took you. None of that. Just what lead up to it. How did you first meet them? How did they manage to get you? Did you see it coming at all?"

"Did I see it coming?" Ed asked himself, frowning. "Did I?"

"What's the first thing you can remember prior to that incident? Where were you going? Why were you out and about in the first place?"

"Uh…man, I'm…I know some of this. I do! Just let me think. Let me think…"

"You're okay with this, aren't you, Fullmetal? It will be very helpful, whatever you can give me is fine."

"Well, yeah, I'm okay, I'm trying, it's just that…ah…damn it, I'm just like…I just gotta think."

"Don't try too hard," Gansworth said quietly. "Let it come. If it doesn't, we can try again later."

"Naw, I mean…shit…I can't even remember what was going on here before I left, and I know I know that."

"There's nothing like a direct question to clog up your recall. Take your time."

"Tell me something you already know to get me started! I know I've told you stuff before."

"Well," Mustang said, "You left against orders, I know that first hand. You were under instructions to stay in the compound until further notice."

"So you know this was all my fault?"

"That's not important. Not my point, at all. I'm just trying to refresh your memory."

"Holy shit."

"Ed, please, it wasn't like it was even a surprise. You only followed orders about half the time. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I always let you get away with it. So by implication, you didn't feel as bound to follow my orders as you should have."

Ed thought about that and decided that kind of made sense. He did remember many times when Mustang gave him orders and he stubbornly did the opposite. He wasn't a very good soldier in that regard, but he never got more than a slap on the wrist or a good chewing out…but even when he did as instructed, he got slapped on the wrist and chewed out, so it was true. It was never a big deal so he took orders with grain of salt, deciding on his own if they were worth following or not.

"I still don't remember."

"Let me ask you this, Edward. If this information is very important to the Colonel, would you be willing to let us help you to remember?"

Ed turned to Gansworth, the beginnings of a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Help me?"

"That's right. We can try some relaxation techniques to start."

"Relaxation? That's all?"

"Sure. We'd only try other things if that didn't work."

"Oh. You wanna dope me up again," he frowned.

"No special drugs. Nothing like that. Just relaxation techniques. Then maybe we'd try a little hypnotherapy."

That didn't sound all that bad to him, logically. He wasn't sure why he felt so afraid when he heard it - it felt even worse when he caught the hypnotherapy part. But he wouldn't consider saying no; this sounded like the Colonel needed his intelligence on the homunculi, and helping defend against those monsters was the only reason he had the right to keep drawing breath. Warring with his emotions, he nodded. His troubled look prompted the Colonel to chime in.

"I'd like to be there if that meets with your approval."

"Sure! Yeah, that's a good idea. I mean, since you're that one that knows what you're trying to find out."

"Do you think you could do it soon? Maybe, later today?"

Gansworth's teeth clenched. Damn that Mustang, he needed more time to prepare.

"Sure. Yeah. If we're gonna do it, let's get it over with. Can't we just do it now?"

"That might be difficult, Edward."

"You said no drugs, right? So what are you going to do to me?"

Gansworth counted to ten mentally. "I need to prepare a space where we won't be interrupted, where it's quiet and we have some subdued lighting, for starters."

"My office," Mustang said matter-of-factly. "There's a nice couch there that I do believe you've flopped on a few times, Fullmetal. So it's comfortable and familiar. It's quiet and private and we can darken it."

"Mmm." Ed had his eyes cast down, trying to get his head around the concept of relocation to the Colonel's couch, when a firm hand squeezed his shoulder before rubbing his back in friendly encouragement.

"It's just to try to make it easy for you to remember. If it doesn't work out, no harm, right? You'll be back here before you know it. Right, Doctor?"

Growling inwardly, Gansworth responded in a neutral tone. "You seem to have this well thought out. I'll still need to further prepare the room and determine what staff is needed."

The Major took the Colonel's hint, switching places with him, as Ed watched, feeling a bit left behind.

"Al will be back shortly. Tell you what. We'll go make a nice, comfy place for you and then we'll come back to get you. Sound like a deal?"

"Uh-huh," Ed agreed, but he didn't sound at all enthusiastic. The prospect of leaving the room was worrisome, but his wounded pride argued that he had to start getting out, and soon, if he was going to be battle-ready. He didn't say goodbye as they left.

"Let's get this done," Mustang barked as soon as they hit the hallway, a little louder than he'd planned, but it carried the message perfectly. The doctor may be annoyed but he was outranked, and he had best run along and get whatever it was that he needed to follow his directive.

xxxxx

"You disappoint me, Major Kimbley. Not only do you underestimate my intelligence, you somehow think I go around issuing orders as favors."

Kimbley spread his hands innocently and faked a puzzled smile. The man had seen through him, one hundred per cent. But if he were to admit to it, his fate might be sealed in a heartbeat.

"That's not true. You're a busy man, so I didn't think it was necessary to bother you with details."

"Father has never waivered on the elements that need to be ready when the time comes. I don't see where transferring Mustang to a remote outpost helps our cause. Please, Major - explain it to me."

"I just thought that, Colonel Mustang is a valuable resource, and it might be a nice idea to isolate him. So he doesn't get any hair-brained ideas and end up having to be eliminated. You, yourself said that he might be a problem as the Elrics' guardian. I was just taking that a step further. I was going to propose that you let me take over his post."

Bradley's humorless laugh set Kimbley on alert.

"Let me be frank. You have one thing you're very good at, Major. One very special, glorious talent. And if I ever need someone to slaughter the Elric brothers in style, I will definitely give you a call. On a lesser scale, when I need someone to accompany me, someone who makes people uncomfortable because they sense what it is that they're good at, then I might ask for your services in that regard once more. But know your place. I don't intend to use you for anything else. And if you cause any trouble, for me, for my associates, or for any of the valuable sacrifices…I won't hesitate to eliminate you. No stone is powerful enough to protect you from my wrath."

"I think you underestimate me, Your Excellence. I'm capable of a great many things besides the obvious. Given the chance, I can prove it to you. I am, after all, the only Alchemist truly loyal to your cause."

"I think I just made myself clear. Have a look at the skirmish reports and go clean out some nests of rebels, hone your skills. That's an order. Just make sure that you stay out of Mustang's jurisdiction if you plan on seeing your next birthday. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Kimbley saluted, doing an anguished mental face-palm. Not only had he failed to make his desired arrangements to torment the bastard Colonel, now he was banned from gathering his cherished bargaining collateral. For the first time in a long time, rage was starting to seriously boil in his veins.

Rebels the world over shivered collectively, feeling the same curious burning chill in their spines.

xxxxx

Gansworth hustled around the room, making a final check. He'd won his argument, adamant that the couch was too inconvenient; the only reason they were able to stick with this familiar location was the ample floor space, allowing for the delivery of more suitable equipment. The procedure chair glistened in chrome and slick upholstery, a glorified recliner designed to hold a patient securely in a practically limitless number of positions. The arms could be used, or not, with or without the padded rails, and if restraint was necessary, compartments in the base already held those accessories. But the most important factor was the ability to access Edward easily and with full visibility from either side.

Set by itself in the middle of the room, it looked like an interrogation chair. Totally the wrong message, should Edward see it. He had been promised the couch and the doctor was not sure how important that detail was in the boy's comfort level.

It was with no small amount of relief that he thanked the Lieutenant for making the trip to her quarters to fetch the fluffy beige comforter she presented to him now.

"Is this going to cover it well enough?"

"It should. I was going to try and secure it but that's probably not a good idea, now that I look at it. He'll slide around too much if he moves about with this under him. It will still work. It's primarily to make it look as comfortable and non-threatening as possible when he first approaches it. As I help him get situated, I'll have the orderly slip it out it from underneath him so that he doesn't notice. And he'll have his coat to hold onto. Ah, they're here. Gentlemen, just a few quick instructions."

Mustang and Armstrong entered, the Colonel looking cool and neutral, the Major slightly flustered at having been removed from his post helping Ed remain calm.

The doctor nodded to Hawkeye in agreement with her mimed suggestion to shut the door.

"All right. Up front, I'm going to tell you that I don't have any idea if we'll have any success in using hypnosis on Edward. It's not easy to predict how this might go. I've combed through everything we have here on the subject, but it all related to regression therapy or behavior modification in subjects that are in a far less acute stage of mental distress. I haven't been able to find any guidance. I'm reasonably competent at taking a cooperative subject into a basic trance and getting responses to simple questions. Just keep in mind that a fully submerged subject is highly, highly suggestible and they'll surprise you by taking off with some mundane phrase or side comment and end up on a tangent that can use up a lot of time and energy before you can bring them back on track. So I would like you to refrain from jumping in with your own questions or comments. Even if you feel compelled to comfort him or clarify something, please wait. If you feel it's important, whisper it to me, and then I'll guide you."

"You think there's a reasonable chance of having some success, though. Right?" Mustang asked, feeling a moment of hesitation. If Gansworth was simply complying with orders for show, putting Ed through the upheaval of a failed experiment was unjustifiable, despite the fact this was his own idea.

"I've had varying degrees of success. But the situations I've been involved in were completely different. We're talking assistance in interrogations and debriefings, and on the other extreme, stress reduction relating to patient distress over medical procedures. Nothing much in between. This is, here again, not my area of expertise. Psychology is inextricably intertwined in physiological problems, and resources are scarce. I'm not making excuses for poor performance, because I haven't had that issue. But the pitfalls that come from lack of experience are the hardest to prepare for. That's why I want to go into this with an overabundance of caution."

The Colonel nodded. "So we just stand by?"

"When we come back in with Ed, Colonel, I want you seated over here, and Lieutenant, I'd like you by the door – tell me, do you have someone to stand by and make sure we're not interrupted?"

"Fahlman will be stationed at the Lieutenant's desk."

"Good. Please be sure to tell him that there should be no loud conversations. I want nothing to be overheard while we're in here."

"We'll put out the 'do not disturb' warning."

"Yes. So then, Lieutenant, I'd like you by the door, just in case. I'll call on you if we need you. And you'll be our last line of defense if he tries to exit. Not that I expect that during the session. I've rarely seen a subject do much of anything in the form of movement while they're under. But if he experiences anxiety before or after, or has an episode of some sort and separates from the process, he could try to flee back to his room. I think that's a very strong possibility, one we should be prepared for."

"It would be all right if I intercept him, I assume," the Major rumbled.

"Yes. If he leaves the chair against my wishes, know that you, specifically, are to respond first. He trusts you and he's likely to accept your involvement with the assumption that you're 'on his side', so you are the preferred person to intervene if needed. I'd like you in arm's reach of him throughout. You'll stay next to him and on the opposite side of me. I'd like both of us to remain standing so that we're above him and easily seen. I think that he will feel more secure that way, and I would think not overwhelmed since it's just the two of us. Now, which one of you is going to take notes?"

Hawkeye raised her hand slightly.

"Please take full and complete notes, and where you can, get both my dialogue and Edward's responses, as well as capturing his non-verbal actions and reactions. I know that you want to end up with a report that answers Colonel Mustang's inquiries; but if you could act as my recorder for his behavior as well, that would be most helpful."

"Then is there some reason why we can't actually record this?" Mustang asked. It seemed logical, but he felt uncomfortable about it. Although he couldn't identify why it seemed like an extreme invasion of Edward's privacy, bordering on invasion of intimacy. Considering how many witnesses would be in the room, it made no sense, but there it was. He even felt guilty bringing it up.

"It's not uncommon to record a hypnosis session. It's standard practice in interrogations and debriefings, to make sure that statements aren't misinterpreted, or that suggestions haven't been planted inadvertently with leading questions and the like. I can have the orderly see if the equipment is available. Be forewarned, though, the privacy statutes for voice recordings are different than the ones for medical decisions. We have to advise Edward and ask his consent first; and if he refuses consent, you'll have decide whether to override him as his guardian and there again, he'll have to be informed. Depending on his attitude, it might cause some resentment or resistance, and that could definitely have an effect on his susceptibility. We need him to be willing and openly cooperating as much as possible."

"Never mind, then. Lieutenant Hawkeye is exceptional at shorthand. You don't have a problem with this, do you, Lieutenant?"

"Not at all, sir. Especially if it helps Edward."

"Sorry for the needless sidebar."

"No problem, Colonel. It was a legitimate suggestion. So, do we all know our parts here? There will be an orderly here, any minute, actually, with the rest of my supplies. I'm trying to cover all the possibilities. Let me have a look here…medication, water, damp and dry towels, bag, extra blankets, janitorial kit…I think I have everything covered. Just, Lieutenant, if you would bring in whatever note-taking items you prefer to use. To warn you, I'm going to rely on Edward's feedback to guide me as I induct him, so I need extreme quiet and complete stillness to start off with. Once he's well under, movement should not bother him. I'll give you a thumb's up sign when he's there."

"Well. That's that, then…"

"One more thing! Remember we'll be referring to the procedure as "guided relaxation", and not hypnosis or hypnotherapy. He's displayed some anxiety when those words are used."

A knock at the door and Fahlman's ever-sleep-deprived mug came into view, ushering in the orderly right on cue.

"All set?"

"Let's go get Edward."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gansworth didn't really question his own concurrence in the suggestion to move the session to the Colonel's office. What with all of the minor medical procedures and unpleasant exams and the like, there were already abundant negative associations with the boys' shared room, even though it was now Ed's only continuous island of safety and security. If this session brought out half the distressing experiences he expected, it could have a severe enough impact to create lasting bad feelings about the place he re-experienced them in. They could ill afford to further poison Ed's everyday environment any further if it could be helped.

But the struggle to get Ed to the Colonel's office was as agonizing and brutal as it was outwardly unremarkable. Red in the face, shaking and in need of assistance to walk, Ed silently nodded to indicate his ability to keep going. He refused to be distracted in his effort to somehow lift one foot and then the next, trying to meet the expectations of the crowd pacing along with him.. The world at large spun mutely, deafened as he was by the roar of the veins in his head. It required nothing less that Herculean effort to take each step, each one requiring a separate, deliberate, conscious effort to prevail against the nausea and distorted vision and dangerously elevated blood pressure, to move in spite of the unreasoning terror of the unknown and stabbing somatic pain in every micrometer of every wound he'd ever suffered in his short, hazardous life; all while weighted heavily with an overwhelming, depressive, unreasonable grief over parting with Al, even for this short time

We should have used a wheelchair, Gansworth thought. Having him walk was understandably difficult but on the flip side, empowering, or at least that was the theory.

The theory was wrong. He sent the orderly to fetch a chair anyway, and it turned out to be the right decision. By the time it arrived they had spent ten minutes going perhaps a fourth of the distance to the office, and Ed was to the point of barely making progress.

"Sorry this was late," Gansworth said, smooth and with modulated friendly cheer, as if he had expected to use the chair all along. It made it easier for Ed to transition to the chair without feeling like he had failed. "My fault. You did surprisingly well. I am impressed."

Ed heard him, as he sat, and slowly processed the words along with the tremendous relief that the risk of falling or crying uncle had been swept away. It made him feel better. This was a hard thing to do, such a hard thing they hadn't intended to make him do it, and he had shown them just how strong he really was. He was strong. His hands still shook so hard that the metal rattled, but when he looked at them, he didn't notice. He only saw how pink his flesh hand was, and took it as an affirmation of the bright red blood flow of good, solid effort.

It was imperative to get the Colonel whatever information he needed and then get back to protect Al. Everything else was collateral bullshit. The floor swept by quickly between his feet and in moments, they bumped across the slight threshold into the slightly darkened office, spiking the somatic pain with the minor jolt.

What's that? he thought suspiciously, struggling with his breath to hide the pain. The comforter covered a chair of some type; the sharp glint of cold metal lurked ominously below the edge of the soft cloth near floor level.

Gansworth read his look and motioned to the Major. They flanked the wheelchair and waited for a moment; when Ed neither rose not spoke, the doctor took the lead.

"I brought an adjustable chair in for you. We can recline it a bit until we find the most comfortable position for you. I'd like to keep your head elevated, at least slightly. We want you to be comfortable. We want to keep your head up and at a nice, normal pressure."

That made sense. His head was pounding a bit already, and being flat, or sitting up with his feet on the floor, wouldn't help his head like reclining would.

Ed looked better, less suspicious, perhaps even a touch reassured, though still nervous and pained. It seemed okay to move forward.

"Can we help you get relocated?"

At that, Ed glanced over to confirmed that the Major was the other part of the "we"; he nodded, and the two moved in slow, careful synchronization, each taking an upper arm and supporting him to the point where, if he had no motor control, they still could have moved him the same way.

I seemed okay until the semi-familiar person stepped up hurriedly behind him with unknown motives. He struggled instinctively to turn around, resisting inches away from being installed in the chair for the duration.

Like a child caught in the act, the orderly froze with an uncertain look, comforter half-off and in his hands, watching as Ed twisted around to face him on full-blown alert.

"He has to move it, Edward, it slips around too much to sit on. We have it just in case you need to be propped or padded, or if you get cold."

Plop! Ed's acceptance of the explanation made itself know by his sudden release of resistance, causing his body to complete the drop into the chair and trapping half the comforter underneath him.

All the while, as they shifted and moved him and adjusted the chair, lowering the lights, and eventually settled by sitting and standing in what he sensed were predetermined spots…he split his energies between keeping track of their activities and trying to keep himself calm. He centered his thoughts by anticipating how much more it was probably going to hurt. That didn't really frighten him, he just wondered. Pain was so familiar, sometimes it was kind of…comforting…because it was so reliable and so constant. It might fade to where it was barely noticeable, it might travel and be different places in his body…but he wasn't sure that he wanted it to go away entirely. It would leave behind an unnerving void; like pushing against an opposing force, if it disappeared, he would topple. It had become so natural and necessary that he no longer noticed how central it was to daily existence, as basic as the forces of gravity.

But on another level he recognized that asking whether it would be painful came at the risk of revealing that his aim was not to avoid, but to embrace it. Which might make them question his sanity, and he didn't want that. The question of his sanity was one of things that made him most anxious about this event. If they dredged up things like his feelings about pain, they might label him as crazy again and he was definitely not crazy.

"Let's lower you just a bit more…are your feet too high?"

Ed shrugged, squirreling around a little. It was really quiet. It made the pulse in his ears seem like drumbeats in the awkward lack of noise.

"I'd like to encourage you to tell me what's on your mind. It's not a big deal. There's no pressure here. But anything you share could be useful. If not in answering the Colonel's questions, it might help us to be more efficient with our relaxation techniques."

"I'm all right," Ed replied, his voice far too loud to his own ears, soft and barely audible to the others in the room.

"That's good to hear. Now, let me give you a couple of simple instructions before we start. I want you to pick a word, something kind of unique that you're not likely say during our conversation. And we'll use that word as a signal that you want to stop. If you say the word and you're able to respond to me when I ask what it is that you would like to stop – say, a particular line of questions – I promise you, I will stop until you let me know you're ready to continue. If you say the word and don't or can't respond further, I'll bring you all of the way out and we'll stop the session. Now, while you think of a word, show me this sign." Gansworth held up two fingers in a "v" formation; Ed mimicked without pause.

"Very good. That is your "stop sign". If you can't say your word, or perhaps even if you just prefer not to talk, if you give me this sign, I will stop, ask if you have further clarification, and if you don't respond, I'll stop the session. Okay? Now, what is your word."

Ed shook his head, thinking. "Trap?"

"I…think that's too common of a word. Perhaps a name from mythology, an exotic animal or a favorite candy, or some such?"

"Oh…uh…damn it, I just keep thinking of words I probably will use."

"Can I give you one, then? How about lynx?"

"Links. Links. Okay. I got it."

"Very good. Now. I have a sound that we'll use as a signal if you get distracted. I'll use this little sound…" Gansworth lightly tapped a small call bell, bringing forth a musical, muted 'ding', "when I need to get your attention. When you hear it, it will serve as a reminder that I need you to stop and listen to what I'm saying. It's not very loud, but it's unique, and you will know when you hear it that I'm waiting for your attention. Do you understand?"

Ed nodded, a little more at ease with the simplicity of the instructions.

"Now, let's get you settled. I want you to concentrate for me. Bring your attention inward and embrace all of the sensations you can detect in your body as you breathe in and out."

Ed's first attempt to cooperate failed almost immediately; he reared up and looked around, wide-eyed, making sure the Major was still nearby and that no one in the room seemed suspicious. It seemed like there were so many of them. But they had all been near him and touched him at one point of another, and the scent would be hard to hide in such a confined area. The orderly was the same one that helped Dr. Gansworth when he did the other procedures. So they all seemed to be okay.

"Major," he said softly, barely forming the word.

Glancing at the doctor for permission, Armstrong stepped up and laid a hand on Ed's shoulder, supporting and guiding him as he sank back down.

"I'm right here, Edward."

"You're staying, right?"

"Of course, you mustn't worry about that. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm not worried," Ed lied, convincing no one.

Gansworth's hand was supporting his other shoulder, waiting for the right moment to retake control of the conversation. Armstrong was speaking in the perfect tone - low, even and resonant. A more calming, reliable and trustworthy voice, he could not conceive.

Ed exhaled heavily and tried to get in a tolerable resting position again.

"Let's lower your head just a little," Gansworth said, making an adjustment of perhaps an inch, to create a fresh starting point. He expected that they would have some trouble and need multiple attempts to get underway, and this small segment of the routine was the point he had selected as the place to restart. Having the same starting point after whatever disruption caused the need to return to it would make for a more controlled and structured experience for all involved. Ed, in particular, would benefit if the session felt capably administered and on track, with the goal that he would eventually feel enough trust in the doctor and the procedure to let go and relax. "Is that better?"

"Yeah." His mind was racing in the tiniest of circles and Ed struggled to rein it in further by forcing it to chant affirmations instead of worrisome questions. _The Major's here, the Colonel's here, the Doctor's here, the Lieutenant's here,_ he willed into his mind. The unwelcome thoughts were bubbling up to interfere: S_omeone might come! What if you say things you don't want them to know? Al isn't here, and you should always be watching Al, what kind of brother are you? It doesn't look safe in this room, behind the curtain is a window. And things outside are always trying to look in windows, trying to get in, trying to take you away_…

The doctor took on that voice again, unnaturally slow and comforting as compared to his usual tight, clinical reserve. The very nature of that change caught Ed's attention again and helped the noise in his head take a back seat.

"You can move around and adjust your position to make yourself more comfortable. You're not restrained or suppressed from movement or speech. You can relax and say or do whatever feels natural to you."

The automail was a bit of a problem at this stage; one easy exercise to relax the patient and bond a bit was to take up both hands and shake them gently back and forth until the arm muscles got rubbery and relaxed. But Gansworth wasn't sure; shaking one arm might just highlight the tension that would remain in the other shoulder. Likewise, his legs were out, too. So he'd set aside the theraputic touch methods for now; if things didn't progress he still had them in his arsenal. Patience was key here, and he was set for a long haul.

He was pleased to see Ed respond by shifting his leg, then after a moment, sliding his upper body slightly to one side. That meant he was listening, not only to instruction, but to the feedback from his body. And that was exactly the right place to get back underway.

"We are in a very safe and quiet place right now, surrounded by the care and protection of people we can trust. This is the perfect time to relax and let the world take care of itself for a little while. We're going to start out by making sure we're comfortable and secure. Once we set aside the responsibilities and worries of everyday life we can experience how much lighter we feel without that load on our shoulders."

Ed shifted again, just a little, and his constant, unpredictable eye movements slowed tellingly. When he swallowed it was slow and deliberate, and while he didn't seem to want to look Gansworth in the face he did focus on his neck, watching the bob of his Adam's apple as he spoke.

"We'll concentrate on locating the core of the strength of the life force in our body. Breathe deeply and feel the flow of the oxygen coming in, and the carbon dioxide pushing out, as you fill your lungs with needed air and then release the breath that your system expends. Tune out everything but the sound of my voice and the powerful messages your body is sending you. In a little bit I'll be asking you widen your awareness and focus on a point or an object somewhere in the room, so while we are going to be very relaxed and free of the weight of the world, we will still be awake and able to see the objects that occupy the space around us. For now, let the weight of your head rest naturally against the padding of the chair. Release the tension in the muscles of your neck and let your head go limp and free. It feels comfortable, doesn't it? The pad cradles your head so securely, right where it belongs . Your entire body feels slightly warm, but not too warm. The relaxation is beginning to flow from your head to your neck, cascading clear down your spine as your mind and body find harmony in the meditative state. As it travels slowly down the vertebra stealing away the tension from each one before easing on to the next, it gradually weighs your body down into the soft support of the chair. That chair is cradling you, holding you safely and securely, as you nestle into it deeper and deeper, relaxing into a state of unfettered, untroubled existence. Edward, you can hear my voice over anything you may be thinking of, and it will be there to keep watch over you and keep you safe as we travel, no matter where we may go. You are always aware of my protection and you feel strongly that you are not alone. You know that I am here for you every step of the way, and you are not afraid."

Ed's face was getting pale, the redness finally drained away. His eyes fell shut but he popped them back open; concentrating on the doctor's words and focusing at the same time took some getting used to.

"Take another slow, deep breath, very deep, and as you release it, let your eyes drift until they find just the right spot."

Ed let his eyes move, and they seemed to direct themselves to the darkened green glass shade of the unlit banker's lamp on the bookcase next to the Colonel's desk.

"It looks like you've found your spot. Can you tell me if you've found it?"

Ed nodded slowly.

"That's good. You nodded; and it would be nice if you would speak when you answer me. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," Ed whispered, staring unblinking at the green shape. The doctor's voice didn't seem like his usual voice at all now. It was much slower and deeper, almost melodic, and it almost seemed to be piped inside his head.

"And can you confirm that you've found your spot?"

"Yes."

"Very good. Thank you. It's good to know that we're able to concentrate so easily. It's a great relief to be able to let go and trust that we will be protected no matter what. We are able to cooperate and go forward without fear, knowing that we will be asked to do only those things which are beneficial to us. Now, as you look at your spot and enjoy the great comfort that it brings you, let your mind start to soften and become more pliable; you hear my voice and understand it easily and the sound is warm and familiar. The warmth and security that you feel each time you hear my voice will keep you in a safe place, no matter what memories we may uncover on our journey. If you feel stressed or worried, remember that you are with me, in my care, and I have the power to keep you safe and bring you into wakeful, rested awareness at any time. You will remember your word and hand sign. Show me your hand sign."

Staring into the green glass, Ed's hand twitched. He thought he held up the fingers, but the twitch was the only movement he managed.

"Let's try again. Continue to focus on your breathing, take deep, even breaths, in and out, as you let your body respond on its own to my requests. That's right. Very good. Now. Show me your hand sign."

Ed's stomach muscles contracted and gave him a better sense of his physical state. This time, the two fingers came up, albeit very slowly, and gave the right sign.

"Thank you. That's excellent. You feel secure about remembering your sign, and your body feels so good when it's cooperating and keeping our lines of communication open. Our communication will be two-way. I will be guiding you, and you will be describing what you see. But first, what is your signal word?"

"Links is my word," Ed whispered promptly.

"Correct. It feels good to respond to me, and it will feel better and better as we go further into our journey. It affirms that you are in control, and it gives you the power to rise above any memory or concern, no matter what. I will be repeating this as we travel, and you will listen and absorb the truth of it as if you have always known it. More and more, you discover and embrace the inner power that you possess over the events of your past. Are you comfortable now, Edward?"

"Yes."

"Are you ready to move forward and become even more relaxed?"

"Yes."

"Continue to focus on your spot. Listen with your mind. Your ears are so relaxed now, so very relaxed, that they fall into sleep, and it's fine because we don't need them now. You can let these words flow into your mind directly, without prejudice. You allow them to form freely in your awareness and embrace them as if they were your own. My words flow in, and your body grows warmer, softer, and heavier with each one. Your heels and buttocks are growing heavy, very, very heavy. The weight fully displaces any tension or discomfort. They sink deeper and deeper into the welcome support of the cushions underneath you. You can feel it happen, slowly, gradually, as you breathe in and out in slow, deep, even measures. Can you feel it, Ed?"

"Mm," Ed murmured, barely distinguishable as a positive response. His eyelids fluttered. There was company, comforting and friendly, casually setting up camp in the often terrifying badlands of his inner mind. He embraced the presence fiercely, latching onto the concept of company in a place where he had no idea it could exist.

"Focus on my voice now. You are relaxed and comfortable, but at the same time, you are not sleepy. You are drifting more and more into a state of relaxed, comfortable, pleasant awareness. You feel your body in its relaxed state and it gives you a heightened sense of well-being, and you're filled with positive energy. As heavy as your heels are, your knees and thighs are amazingly light and loose and limber. They are weightless, and if not for the great weight of your heels, they would float up in mid-air. Follow the flow of energy through your body. Heavy and light. Warm and cool. And with it, release the last of the tension that may have remained, trading it with the sensations you find most pleasurable."

Gansworth watched Ed's eyes jiggle for a second, and worried that he was resisting; but a deep breath turned into a long, noisy sigh, and the amber eyes half-closed before resuming their unblinking stare.

"You're doing very well. Everything is going just as it should. You're able to unwind and let go, and now we can take our body into the deepest relaxation without any worries or cares. Starting with your scalp, working down to your toes, we will touch on every muscle in your body, and release any last traces of tension or worry that we find there. When we reach your toes, you will be in a state of total and complete relaxation, and you will be completely free of bodily distractions. Your state of calm will last until our session is over."

It was a long, slow, laborious process, walking Ed from head to toe via every square inch of his battered frame. Attempts to relax his neck and lower back only went to a 'good enough' stage, but it was more than ample, in the whole, to put him very deeply into trance.

The witnesses struggled to stay awake, boredom and collateral absorption of the relaxation dialogue taking its toll. At one point, Armstrong swayed, and Gansworth motioned quickly for the orderly to bring up a chair for him. He knew he was pretty good at this, but he had forgotten just how good until now.

He tested the depth of Ed's trance by suggesting that he was placing a great weight on Ed's arm and asked him to try and lift it. Although Gansworth merely took his finger and lightly touched Ed's forearm, his patient struggled valiantly but was unable to budge his arm against it.

Perfect.

"You will rest quietly for a moment and you will gather your inner energy and strength as you wait. You will disregard any conversation you hear, and you will hear nothing and no one except for the steady sound of your own breath, until you hear me tap the bell."

Gansworth took his own break, sitting for a minute and stretching his aching back.

"Amazing," the Major whispered.

"No need to whisper, you can talk normally. Just don't shout or make any loud, sudden noises."

"How is he doing?" Mustang asked.

"He's surprisingly cooperative. Not that I thought he wouldn't try. But this is beyond my expectations."

Gansworth and the orderly began gently inserting rolled blankets between Ed and the sides of the chair, wedging him in. He checked his watch. The three-minute break had passed and Ed still appeared to be deeply under. The biggest risk to taking a break at this stage was the possibility that the patient would fall asleep, wiping out all the hard work inducing the trance and taking them back to square one; so as much as he would have liked to take a longer break, he pressed on instead, asking for silence in the room again before giving the bell a tap.

"Edward. Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. We're going to move on now and do some exploring. Exploring is a form of adventure. And like any endeavor we want to be safe, so we can experience our adventures without the fear of getting hurt or lost. I'm going to let you lead us into our journey, but at the same time, I'm going to keep you with me just above the activity that we see. We'll be floating above, safely, in a cloud that hides us from view. But we can see and hear everything that's happening with great clarity and in perfect detail. So repeat after me. We are safe."

"We are safe."

"We are hidden from danger."

"We are hidden from danger."

"We are allowed to stop at any time, for any reason, by giving our signal."

"We are allowed to stop at any time, for any reason, by giving the signal."

"Very good. This is peaceful, calm exploration. We are just observing and nothing that we see is actually happening to us. It will be just as if we were watching a movie as we look back into the events of the past. We know that it is the past. We know that it can no longer hurt us. We know that we have lived through everything that we will see, and that we came away alive and we are well and we are whole in our present life. In fact, it feels great to be alive, and we maintain that awareness."

Ed shifted a little, then got still again.

"There is a barrier around us that helps us to see unpleasant things without feeling the unpleasant feelings. We can describe them, and we may, but we will not be drawn into them. We have no need to fear the past. The past cannot harm us. We are empowered and ready to move forward. Edward, we will move swiftly now to a specific time and place. We are at the military base, at a date in the past, when you are in the Colonel's command. Your brother is with you and he is very, very large in his suit of armor. You've had an argument with Colonel Mustang. He has instructed you that the base is on lockdown and you are restricted and not to leave. You are watching the last argument you had with the Colonel while on active duty. The date is on the calendar. Do you see it?"

"Mmm." Ed wagged his hand back and forth, and Gansworth let it go instead of insisting on speech.

"Remember, we are not part of the scene. We are watching from a safe distance. You can see and hear it clearly. Tell me what is happening. What do you see?"

"Al," Ed said sadly. "We're walking out. He's still talking, louder and louder. But we're leaving anyway."

"Who is still talking? What are they saying?"

"The Colonel. It's just like always. He yells a lot. I pretend it doesn't bother me. It bothers Al. He's asking why I have to be so rude."

"What do you say?"

"I say 'let's go' and I don't answer that question. I never answer that question."

"Where are we going?"

"There's been an attack in the town. There's a little boy missing. We're going to find him."

"That doesn't sound like the subject of an argument. Can you explain?"

"I tried to tell him that we can do this better than anybody. We should be out there helping, I know it. I'm not wrong."

"Were you told not to go?"

"The base is on high alert. The damned base is always on high alert. That little kid didn't get to be locked up safe on a base full of armed men. What the hell does that have to do with it? Protecting people is supposed to be our job and I'm gonna do it!"

"Easy, now, take a deep breath. We're seeing but we're not reliving the experience. We're watching, as if it were a movie someone made of our life."

"Al's upset with me! That bastard has him all worked up. He wants to help that kid, too, but he says the Colonel probably has it taken care of. I think he gives that guy too much credit. He's killed a lot of people, kids even. You can't assume he's doing enough about it!"

Mustang grimaced. Was that really the only reason why Ed took off? Their argument had spanned several subjects, and the primary dispute was over revoking research expenditures in order to enforce Ed's temporary restriction to base. He always assumed that Ed left to go to the Literature Collective to get a look at a book on alchemic research he had been hunting for nearly a year. It wasn't that he was permanently banned from going there; the restriction was temporary due to a number of particularly violent assaults against alchemists in the region that had expanded to military personnel in general. Breda was spearheading the covert investigation along with Fuery; until more was known, no way was it wise to reveal the truth to a hothead like Fullmetal, since he might go off half-cocked exactly like he did.

But the incident could have been averted if he had known Ed's true motive for leaving. Havoc had the kidnappers staked out and taken out before sunset that very day. It was covered. It was another covert operation and as such, not discussed except on a need-to-know basis. Mustang had made the determination that Edward did not need to know. To think that it was his error in judgment that ultimately lead to such horrible consequences.

Hawkeye saw the Colonel's head bow to rub his eyes; she knew what he must be thinking even as she scribbled the notes diligently. _He'll blame himself more than ever_.

"We're going to take a moment to remember that we're just watching, this is all in the past. Everything is fine. What happens next? Move forward, just a bit. We're going to the point in time where we're leaving the base now. Tell me what's happening."

"Al's got a lot to say. I know, I know, I'm breaking the rules. It's a technicality, is all. I heard, well, _we _heard rumors that the property by the base has been a haunt for some weirdos doing rituals at night. I figure they may be the kind of people who would abduct a little kid. I've got binoculars and we'll just be at the edge of the base property. I wouldn't care about staying on the base but Al's so upset and I don't understand why. I've blown off the old man's shit a hundred times. It's like…it's like Al senses something. I don't know. It's been rough for him, because his blood seal isn't working right all the time. A couple of times, he's faded back to his body at the Gate. I don't know how much longer it can hold him here. He's scared. We're both scared. I need to see that book, and to do that I need to find these terrorist creeps and get rid of them so I can get on with finding the answer to help Al. I can't afford to wait, so I have to do something!"

"We're calming down now. We remember how hard it was but we also remember that everything is fine now, this has all been resolved. We know that there is no need to worry about Al. So we move forward again, but just a little. We're at the point where we're going to be scanning the area, and describing things in detail. You're – ah – we're - out near the perimeter with Al. What do you see next?"

"Something is wrong the minute we step through the hedgeline. Al tells me to be quiet. He thinks he sees someone. He says it's someone he's seen before. I see a flash of a shadow, but I'm not sure. And Al, he takes off running, and I'm chasing him, I'm like, slow down you damned idiot, you don't know what's out there, and that's, that's, what the hell? Al! Al!"

"Ed, you need to listen to me. Stop now. Freeze the picture. Freeze it."

"Al!" Ed panted, eyes scrunched tightly shut, starting to rock forward.

Not good, Gansworth assessed, he shouldn't be moving so much in this deep state.

"Edward. Listen to me. Freeze the picture. It's just a picture, you're not there. Freeze it. Do you hear me?"

"I…yeah…all right." Ed's body wilted into chair, settling back as it had been before.

Gansworth released the breath he'd been holding. "Very good, Edward. We're looking away now. Nothing is happening. It's frozen, there's nothing to watch. Are you looking away?"

"Y-yes."

"Take a deep, deep breath and then let it out. Tell me, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay."

"How do you feel about what you've seen so far?"

"I don't enjoy it."

"We knew that some of the things we would be looking at might be difficult."

"Yeah. Yeah."

"How do you feel about going on now?"

"I didn't want to freeze it. I want to see it. I want to see it."

"Are we getting in the scene or are we above it?"

"We're supposed to be above it."

"That's right. We're supposed to be. And are we?"

"I…don't know if…if we're all the way above it."

"Let's fix that first, then. Step back with me and let's go through some of the relaxation process again."

"But I have to see…"

"We will. We'll see more when we're ready. We want be in the right state of mind."

Ten minutes of deepening the trance again, and Ed avowed that he was once again able to see himself as suspended apart from the scene.

"I'm chasing Al and he's chasing a shadow and he gets just out of my sight. I hear this big crash. I think he's starting to fight, maybe. But I catch up and, no…he fell. He fell because he phased out of consciousness. The blood seal's failed again. I put his helmet back on and prop him up but he doesn't move. We've gone down the hill too far and there are rocks and I can't haul him back up the way we came. I need to take him back fast. I need to figure out how to fix this."

"Good job, Ed, I like the calm and clear way you communicated that information. That's exactly right. What do you remember about the shadowy figure? Did you recognize it at all?"

"No. It was a human-ish shape, but it moved differently, almost like a shadow from a huge bird or something. I didn't see it very well. I didn't care after Al fell, I almost forgot all about it. It's not my priority now. I'm using alchemy to make a cart with wheels and I put Al on it. It wasn't the best decision. But I thought I could use the time hauling him in to try and brainstorm a way to affix him to the armor better, because I don't have any idea how to do that. He might not ever come back. Every time could be the last time. I have to find a way to make it stop."

"Go on."

"I could have gone back the way we came if I'd just done a rolling landform transmutation, pushed him up and along by raising and lowering sections of earth and rock."

"Is that what happened?"

"I said I could have. I didn't. That's what I should have done, it's so obvious. I'm just being stupid or something but I can't change it now, can I? Can I?"

"Remember we're just observing. Let's just look at what really happened."

"I'm so fucking stupid. I made the cart so I'll put him on it. And I'm going forward instead of back, to follow the trail out of the area and find the road on the other side and go back around on it. It's really bumpy this far out on the trail so I have to go slow. I have to stop and push him back and I have to stop and push him back and then I finally transmute rails to hold him on, because I didn't make them at first, because I didn't think of him as hauling an empty shell. He's not an empty shell. He's my little brother. And…"

Ed's body stiffened and his voice changed entirely. It became rough, gravelly, sneering. "Who's hiding in that crappy tin suit you got there on your cart, asshole? What are you two doing here?"

"Who are we hearing now?"

"He's a…it's a…" Ed swallowed and started moving again. "Don't touch him, don't you fucking touch my brother…what the hell? How did he do that?"

"Ed, easy now, we're just observing."

"Wait. I know who you are. I know all about you. You're a valuable sacrifice. Him, too. Damn, pay dirt!" the sneering persona cheered.

"Who is that talking, Ed?"

"I don't know. He's so weird looking. He's ugly and he stinks, I can smell him, and his hair, it's like…it's some kind of Medusa. He's broken the cart and he's all wrapped around Al. I'm afraid. I'm afraid he'll mar up the seal and Al will disappear for good. What do I do? Normally I'd attack and fight to save Al but it feels too risky, like I'll risk Al's life if I do. I don't know what to do! And then he…he tells me what I have to do."

"It's important for you to describe this, Edward, from your perspective. Let this other person speak and behave as they did. Please do not try to speak as the did. Only describe what you witness, and give quotes of what you heard." Gansworth had seen a hypnotized patient take on other personas, but in this case it seemed far too risky.

Ed fell silent, twitching his head twice, as if shaking something off.

"Can you continue watching, Edward? We can stop now if you want. We can come back to this later."

"He says I'm taking this tin can with me and you can suit yourself. And he makes this leap, this unbelievable leap, with Al on his back, held by his hair or whatever that is coming out of his head, like it's alive, I'm not believing my eyes. I'm chasing him, I'm pissed and I feel so much panic, what else can I do? I have to keep up, I can't lose him. We go…we're going too far, deeper into the forest, and I'm trying to think of the best way to get Al back without damaging him. There a clearing and finally, he stops, and he dumps Al on the ground, and he says, you want this turd back? Is it a big deal to you and I say yeah, gimme him back, and he says I'll make you a deal. He's got restraints for me to put on but, hey, he doesn't have any clue who he's up against, so I tell him 'yeah, I'll do whatever you say' and get ready to reel him in. I'm in control now, this is gonna go down easy. As soon as he lets his guard down, I'll use alchemy to get free and whip his ass and take him into custody. "

"Okay, Edward, I think that's good, I think we've gone a long way and you have really done quite well. We're going to back out now. We're going to let the scene get further and further away until…"

"I should be able to turn this around. How did he know? That's not how it works! My…my…I can't…I need to get my hands free! What is this? Don't! Not my…uh…if he does that…those are metal, how am I going to…I can't get loose…what if what if he figures out that Al…what if Al wakes up…"

"Ed! Stop now. Stop. Freeze the…"

Ed's body was in constant motion now, and the Major was starting to intervene.

"Al! Al!"

Gansworth hit the bell once, twice, three times, and the sound went unnoticed.

"Edward Elric! Listen to me! You will immediately remove yourself from the situation you're observing and rejoin me here." _No, no_, Gansworth thought in frustrated alarm, _that's wrong_. A therapist had to sound calm and controlled during this process, always, and the worry had been very clear in his voice.

"No! Al! I won't leave you alone!"

"Edward, listen to my voice," the thin physician leaned in close, to make himself heard while straining to find his best reassuring tone."I'm here with you, and I'm going to help you come away from the source of whatever it is that's upsetting you. Follow me now to a safe place. Follow it. Follow my voice."

Al was on the ground, just an immobile suit of metal, and Ed struggled to stay with him as the disembodied voice tried to force him to retreat, dissolving his restraints and tugging to lead him away. He couldn't abandon his brother like this, but the voice exerted a gravitational force that the entire world was caving into. Beneath his feet, the undertow caused the ground to shimmer until it yawed open, and after a stomach-wrenching moment of weightlessness, it dropped him out of the distorting scene. His fingers caught at the disappearing ground as he passed through it, clawing frantically, but the unsettling force of the doctor's will caused him to slip through and plummet into the darkness below, landing hard, coming to rest flat on his back with a curious lack of pain. The opening above him healed over and the absence of light stole his sense of direction. It was quiet, and he became quiet as well, terrified that if he made too much noise, Al would wake up out there somewhere and the strange creature would fully realize that he wasn't just an odd metal outfit but a sentient being to be destroyed. And down here, he couldn't do a thing to protect him.

That meant he had to find his way back right away. Rolling over onto hands and knees, he reached around, feeling the floor, finding a wall, then another. The darkness felt the same everywhere he explored. His hands met the same featureless surfaces on all sides. He couldn't find a door anywhere.

Still vibrating in his head, the doctor's voice droned on, urging him leave. It was a powerful message and came with the offer to pull him all the way out into safety, but he just couldn't do that. He couldn't leave Al here to die.

"Leave me alone, you asshole, shut up before you get us all killed!" he whispered fiercely.

He hugged his knees and held on tight. Concentrating on fighting the order to leave had stopped his progress in finding a way to get back to Al.

Gansworth was relieved when Ed ceased his struggle and seemed to be ready to fall back into trance.

But his patient was no longer responsive to his instruction, and the longer he spent trying to get some reaction, the more worried he became. Ed's expression was not peaceful and he was muttering in a very dark and disturbed tone

The orderly was at the ready with a shot of sedative; if he ordered its administration, it would be followed by a good long sleep, which should result in breaking the trance. But the residual effect of abandoning Ed in an unknown mental state could be significant; he cursed the ridiculously short prep time for his inability to weigh the options intelligently. He scrambled mentally, trying to come up with some other solution, a plan "C".

Maybe bringing Ed straight forward into the present, in essence trying to lift or pull him back up and over all that had happened since the abduction, was too difficult. If it ended up dragging him through and not over all those traumatic times, it was risky business, especially now that he was not reliably following instructions.

"Where are you right now?"

"Shhh…"

"No one can hear us."

"But…"

"No one can hear us. I can hear you, and you can hear me. Now tell me. Do it quietly if you feel that's important. Where are you now?"

"I don't know."

"All right then. Let's get you to familiar ground. Count backwards…"

"No! I won't leave Al!"

"Al is safe, and so are you. Let me guide you."

"He's not. I'm not. They'll hurt us. We can't get away."

"Edward. I want you to listen closely. Everything is fine. There is no danger. We want your heart beating steadily and your chest rising and falling in a smooth, comfortable rhythm. It's time to relax and look inward again and continue on our journey. There is a new direction you must take. I want you to go back now, way, way back to your childhood, and think of a time when your family was all together and everyone was well. Alphonse, your mother, your father, and you. Drift back and let the scene slowly take shape in your mind." He rang the bell and held his breath.

"Al?" Ed whispered in a neutral tone, bringing a leap of joy to Gansworth's heart.

"That's right. We're not leaving Al, we're going to go somewhere else to see him right now. We're going to see your family home."

"See…home."

"Yes. Thank you, Ed, that's very good, it helps us when you give your thoughts out loud. Yes, we're going to go back to a very warm and comfortable place. A place where you and your brother are safe and sound. Does that sound like something we can do now?"

"Want to…see…that. But…"

"Okay. Listen very carefully and we'll find a point in time where the two of you were living with your parents and everything was peaceful. Concentrate on a specific place in your family home. We're going to lock in on a familiar item in that room and as it becomes clearer, we will let it transport us back, back to those simpler times."

The dark cavern beneath the world containing his brother's stranded shell lost its form, and, although moments ago the situation was his absolute reality, the dreamlike nature of the transition enabled him to let it go and see it on another level as the false impression that it was.

When he remembered the object and focused on it, he grabbed it and immersed in the moment. It was as if the last thirteen years had never passed.

Ed hammered an imaginary object against the tops of his thighs with both hands, repeating the word in time with his movement. His voice was soft, halting and babyish, and his lower lip was protruding just a bit.

"Use-less! Use-less! Use-less!"

"What do you have there, Ed? What are you doing?" Ed's activity was benign enough that it seemed okay to let him be in the moment for now. Ganworth decided not to back him out into observation mode.

"It's Bearphonse," he replied indignantly, hugging it tight before returning to manhandling it. "And I'm waiting just like I'm s'posta! Like a good boy!"

"Where are we, Edward? Can you tell me?"

"Inna hall! This is my house, wheredjya think? Use-less! Use-less!"

"Are you angry with Bearphonse for some reason? Why is he useless?"

"He's the best bear ever! Don't call him that!"

"Then I don't understand. "

"He's not useless! But...well, I'm not, either! Daddy's gonna decide if I am but I'm not! "

"Daddy's going to decide if you're useless?"

"Mm-hmm."

"How will he decide?"

"He's checking my paper now. He's gonna give me a chance. But I don't want Mommy to know."

"Know what?"

"Daddy says I have to work hard and learn. I got lots of numbers and letters on that paper this time. If I did good he's gonna keep my secret so she thinks I'm a good boy. I'll keep learning and by the time I'm smart I'll be smart forever and she won't ever know I wasn't any good. "

"How old are you right now, Edward? "

Ed appeared to fumble with the bear, getting a hand free and proudly displaying four fingers.

Gansworth gave him a pained smile. What kind of parent burdens such a small child with academic performance issues, especially by threatening to expose his shortcomings to his mother as if they were a shameful secret?

"I love my mommy,"he said, the extra softness in his voice matching the wide, glossy look of his eyes as a dreamy smile blossomed in response. "I'm gonna be so smart she won't ever have to ask anybody else anything! Imma help make Al smart, too, cause she'll be sad if he turns out bad."

"Where is your little brother right now? Is he here?

"Heck no! He's with Mom getting stuff at the market. This is a secret, din you hear me? That's why Dad gave me my test now!"

Ed's head twitched and he grabbed at the air, no more smile or small talk. His lower lip began to tremble.

"He's coming. I hope I did good. I hafta did good."

"All right now. Listen to me carefully. You did well and everything is fine. Now..."

"No! I had bad circle shapes! I got the lines right but he's mad about the circles! He says I 'm never…I'm never gonna be any good if I can't make the circles! Never!"

Gansworth gave the bell a few light taps until Ed became quiet and still.

"We're hovering again, Edward. Hovering, and now we're pulling back, away from the house, letting it lose shape and fade from our vision. Let those heavy eyelids close down completely. We have our own place in time to return to and we want to go there now, together."

Hawkeye clenched the pen as if it were the throat of that absentee father, touched by the glimpse of Ed's lot as a little boy.

Gansworth had pondered an attempt at regressing further, to try and find a truly untroubled time, and decided against it. Ed was relaxing, and unlike the situation earlier, he was once again reliably cooperating with instruction. With relief, he realized that his tactics had been successful. They were poised to bring the session to a controlled ending.

It was good to have a better understanding of the beginnings of Ed's career as a child prodigy. He was shamed and bullied into developing his full potential very early on. It sounded as if the father may have planned his desertion in advance, and he treated Ed with rather callous disregard as he prepped him, more interested in his utility than his tender little heart.

Besides, this was a side trip into intensely personal areas far beyond the need to know for most of the other witnesses. In that aspect, he felt a twinge of regret that perhaps he should have cleared the room before using early childhood as his route back to calmer waters.

He would have to impress upon each and every one just how sensitive and confidential this session was. This was a revelation that Al himself was likely unaware of. Discretion was an absolute necessity.

"The air is light and fresh. Your body is still relaxed, and as you breathe in and out, in and out, you have a sense of broadening peace. Slowly, very slowly, you begin to visualize the room, but you don't open your eyes, not yet. You're following my voice now, it's very familiar, and it continues to give you a feeling of safety and security. You can see in your mind that other people are here. People that care for you. Major Armstrong; Lieutenant Hawkeye; Colonel Mustang. They're here, watching over you, supporting you, ready to give you any sort of help you might need. Everyone here feels very warmly about you and we'd like to welcome you back when you're ready. Nod if you're ready to see them."

It took several seconds before the slow, single nod.

"I'm going to count to three. When I reach the number three, you will open your eyes, and you will be alert and refreshed and back to a normal state of consciousness. One, your body is gaining energy and your head feels clear and light. Two, your senses are providing you with feedback once more. You are comfortably aware of your surroundings. Your focus is shifting out, you have been released from the task of looking inward, and you feel a strong desire to rejoin the flow of the world. Three. You are now comfortable, relaxed, yet fully awake and aware. Open your eyes, Edward, very slowly. Our session is done. You were excellent, it went very well. How are you feeling?"

Ed's upper body jerked when his eyes opened, and he searched out his mismatched hands, lying limp in his lap. He felt strange and the moment of calm he experienced while coming out from under was so brief he wasn't so sure he even felt it. His head started nodding and he couldn't really tell if he was doing it on purpose but it created a gentle rocking sensation that somehow made him feel better, so he kept it up.

"Can you look at me? Edward?"

He really didn't want to, and the conflict was eased by nodding a little harder and faster, which rocked him at a satisfying pace.

"Edw…"

"Did I do it? Did you get what you wanted?" he blurted anxiously.

"Yes. You did very well."

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay."

"Are you cold? Here."

"I'm not cold. Let me out of this chair."

Ed didn't wait; he was bailing out even as he asked to be released. Something green caught the corner of his eye and he turned abruptly, brushing back Gansworth's hands, sensing without seeing Armstrong's swift change of position to try and head him off should he make for the door.

His leg wobbled but the reliable automail held him steady as he took three steps and reached for his focus object, drawn to it without understanding why.

His hand closed on the glass shade and he only intended to feel it, hold it, try to understand it; but it was the automail hand, and his nerves reacted to the overload in his brain. A mechanical spasm made his hand clench and the thick glass popped like a balloon, sending a spray of green glass shards in all directions.

Even though he took damage from the shrapnel, Gansworth swung both arms up and hooked Ed under the armpits, firmly yet carefully lifting him up and away from the mess. Ed stared as the last remnants of glass sifted through his now-empty hand, then clenched it in recognition of his error.

"No…no…"

"Easy now," Gansworth handed Ed off to Armstrong's waiting arms. "Let's have the Major escort you back to your room."

"I'm sorry. It was an accident!"

"I know. It's all right. We don't want anyone getting hurt, everyone needs to vacate so we can get this cleaned up."

"Oh no! You're bleeding!"

"Just a scratch. Everything's fine. Accidents happen. Go on now."

"I did what they wanted?" Ed asked anxiously, looking up at the Major as he was placed in the waiting wheelchair in the doorway. "Did I get it right?"

"You did. You were very brave and I'm sure you were a great deal of help."

Ed gasped and pushed up, suspending himself straight-armed instead of sitting in the chair when they started for the corridor.

"One moment, Major. Fullmetal."

With quick strides, the Colonel placed himself in front of Ed and gave him a long, level look. Ed's eyes were wide and dry. All that inner peace bullshit from the hypnosis had left him no better off from what he could see. But perhaps, no worse off, and they did know a few more details. So it was a limited success and they seemed to have escaped without doing further damage to Ed.

Ed hadn't managed to respond, only to stare while still awkwardly half in the chair. It was hard to do as they asked. His long stretch of self-control and cooperation had worn him clear through and he was on the verge of losing it, painfully anxious at being asked to give up control of his own locomotion. His room, and his brother, had been out of his sight too long.

"I just wanted to thank you, Ed. Try to cooperate with the Major now. Sit down in the chair. You're making it difficult for him to transport you safely."

Ed swallowed hard, and tried following the order to sit. The Colonel gave him an encouraging pat and continued until he managed to do as he was asked.

"Good work, soldier."

Ed nodded, searching his superior's face for any sign of disapproval or disdain. Secretly, the Colonel's opinion of him had always been very important. When Mustang would be critical or snide it was so outrageously painful that he'd quickly adopted a feigned dislike for the man. He was a bastard for being so hurtful and callous, but the only way Ed could tolerate it was to hide his feelings and assume the Colonel had no idea how deeply his words could cut. It was one thing to think he was selfish, unthinking and ignorant of his impact; it was far worse to think that he was fully aware and was simply cruel, grinding salt into his wounds, as if for sport.

The Colonel didn't act so mean lately. Ed couldn't think of a single nasty put-down or harsh word since Al came back. Maybe even before that; although his ability to think back properly was unreliable at best.

So maybe he'd finally proven himself by getting Al's body back. Wasn't that the meanest thing he used to prod him with? Chiding him about him lack of progress and then pushing him to do things that further delayed their quest, without caring that it might prevent them from succeeding at all?

"I gave it my best," he said, still half-expecting some kind of retort.

"Let's get you back to your quarters. And, Fullmetal," Mustang said, squatting down and placing a hand on Ed's knee to get them at equal eye level. "you're still a valuable member of the team. What you did today proved it again, but I didn't have any doubt. Don't ever forget that."

"Y-yes, sir," Ed said, with surprised gratitude and a touch of hesitant pride.

"Major. Let's move out!"

Ed's mind raced as they rolled slowly past the industrial low-pile carpet and arrived at the tired, over-waxed linoleum of the long corridor. The formerly treacherous journey was just a background blur to be ignored as he latched on to the Colonel's words of encouragement. Exhausted, such provoking thoughts stole every ounce of his concentration.

_I did it. I'm back all right, even the Colonel sees it! Not all better, maybe, not 100%, but better enough. Enough to move forward and start working on sending Al back to where he belongs. I should be easy now that he can see that I'm on my 'A' game again. I just have to think of the best way to present it to him. Once he goes home I'll be back on active duty, and I'll be up front and ready when the homunculi make their move. It's all falling into place, almost like it was meant to be. _

Mustang and Armstrong cringed and shared a look as Ed, never making a sound, swayed before tipping forward precariously. They managed to catch him before he tumbled all the way out and set him back in the chair, his wide, vacant stare unbroken by the event. His head lolled back when the strap was tightened down across his chest to prevent a repeat. Although he was awake and aware as far as they could tell, his mind was elsewhere, and he no longer responded to their voices.

"Hang in there, Edward," the Major said with quiet sadness, and they escorted him back to his room with all possible speed.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Al turned the rook over and over until it shot out of his hand and sent a half-dozen chess pieces flying off the board.

"Ahh," he said, sounding more weary than surprised. "That was dumb. What a klutz. I think you just won."

"No, I can fix it. I'm pretty sure I know where they all go."

But Al let his hand come to rest on Havoc's, just for a moment, to stop him from resetting the board.

"I can't concentrate. No more games, okay? Some other time, maybe."

Havoc nodded and settled the box on his lap to put the game away.

"I know their not going to hurt him. I know they'll be careful. I guess I just thought I'd be able to be in the room, at least. I mean, here we go again. He's my brother, damn it. Mine. And everybody else gets to be there but me."

"It…"

"Don't explain again, all right? Just don't." Al shook his head as he lowered his face into his hands.

"You feel all right?"

"I want to crawl out of my skin. I hate feeling like this. Feels awful. It's like my bones itch." Al lifted his head and cast a narrow stare at Havoc, waiting while he took his seat again after shelving the game. "And don't offer me any stupid pills."

"I can't help you if you won't let me, buddy."

Al grumbled and started kicking the table leg

Something about Winry leaving made things feel different. When it sank in that she actually left, it brought home the fact that leaving was an option he had, too. The only thing keeping him here was his commitment to Ed. He knew this fact before, but he never regarded it as anything close to a possibility once the Colonel gave him permission to stay.

Winry was committed to Ed, too. But she was able to justify coming and going, visiting to help and give support, yet remaining a participant in the normal world, too. He felt a vacuum, an unsettling pull, to the exit portal he imagined her passing through on her way to take care of business out in the wider horizons of everyday life.

He tried to fight the thought but the seed was planted. He was in no way ready to abandon his full-time watch over Ed's recovery; but he allowed himself, now, to contemplate that which he had not before. At some point, it might be best to venture out ahead and spend some time getting established, rather than wait to bring Ed away and show up expecting Winry to babysit while he went through the process of finding work and raising a home on their land again. Not yet, but he could see a day in the not too distant future where Ed would be improved enough to understand the situation and agree to keep working on his recovery here while Al was readying their situation on the outside.

Outside. A magnetic concept for a frustrated, claustrophobic young man. A source of incredible, damning guilt, filling him with self-disgust that he would even contemplate it.

He shook his head and realized the room was too quiet. Havoc's eyes were locked on him when he looked up.

"Doin' okay there, buddy?" Havoc asked warily, testing to see if Al's slow boil was about to escalate, or if he was just lost in thought.

"Yeah, just…they better not screw him up. That's all I've got to say."

"Doc's a careful man."

"The Colonel's not, though. Not always."

A knock on the door brought Al's heart to his throat.

Fahlman's head poked in, but he didn't enter.

"Hey. They're wrapping it up. They'd like you guys to be there waiting when Ed gets back to the room. And I heard it went okay."

Al jumped up so fast he hit the table with his thighs and nearly fell. Havoc let it go; Al wasn't up for jokes or sympathy, and there would be plenty of time later to check out what surely would be bruises, given the force of the impact. It was a very heavy table and he'd raised it up several inches.

From the eyebrow it raised on Fahlman's face, it was apparent that they'd just picked up an escort.

"Slow down, there, fellah. There's time," Fahlman said as he stood aside to let Al rush by with Havoc on his heels. Just to be safe, he trailed just slightly behind. Something about Al's behavior made him uneasy. The younger Elric seemed more sane, more lucid; and yet, Fahlman felt he was less predictable, in his own way, than Ed. With Ed, you knew he was just as likely to be in outer space as we to be in the room at any given moment; but with Al, people tended to assume that he was like everyone else ninety percent of the time, and they forgot just how bad that random ten percent of crazy could be. He was growing like a weed and by all indications he was going to be a really big kid if he managed to fill out. He was no longer the frail foundling from beyond the pale that Ed had rescued from the Gate.

All the more reason to keep his leash just as short or shorter than Edward's.

xxxxxxx

Breda slipped his copy of the session transcript into the compartment of his aluminum clipboard.

"I'll give this a closer look Colonel, but I think we've gotten most of the pertinent intel. Stealing Al was a great tactic but it's hard to analyze in terms of how they'd take a single individual."

"You checked Piper's profile? He shouldn't have been a pushover."

"Well, yeah. So you can surmise that they're sly and good at stealth, because Piper was a master marksman and ranked high in martial arts. I'd guess that he was taken by a sudden show of such overwhelming force or weaponry that he had no chance to fight back. I'd also bet that when he was either captured outright or forced to surrender, it happened just like that." Breda snapped his fingers to punctuate his remark.

"Or caught absolutely by surprise with some other devious tactic. And yet…" Mustang tapped his upper lip, fighting to bring his thoughts into order. "Dogs. Lieutenant, did Vickers' team take the dogs to the site?"

"I'm not aware of it. But I can check," Hawkeye said.

"Do it immediately. If it hasn't been done, have them get on it now. First priority is to figure out where they took him. Second, see if there's a scent trail back to the base and where it goes from there. I want the facts pieced together as soon as possible, so we can prevent this from happening again."

Hawkeye turned on her heel to follow his command as he brought his attention back to Breda to send him off as well. The Colonel was going forward full-out as if the questionable bits of evidence discovered at the site where they'd found Edward meant another man may be suffering the same fate. They hadn't left the victim behind for them to reclaim this time, and she knew full well the prospect of Piper, still alive and enduring inhuman suffering in some unknown, possibly nearby location as they searched, was almost more than he could bear.

She heard him catching up despite the fact she was moving out double-time.

"Sir?"

"Just carry out your orders, Lieutenant," he shot back, turning the corner and heading off on his own, adding his unknown destination to her list things to worry about.

She was supposed to be there to watch his back. It was their verbal agreement, cemented a thousand times by deeds neither one of them would ever forget. It was the reason she joined the military, the reason she got up every morning, and most of all, the reason he was still drawing breath - because she'd saved him from sure death on more than one occasion. How could it be that he was suddenly so cavalier, leaving her in the dark more and more to go off on his own, when they'd kept their pact for so long?

As soon as she delivered her message, she fully intended to find the answer to that question.


End file.
